Complementary Angles
by Zathara001
Summary: For everyone who was as disappointed as I was with X3, this is my take on what an x3 could have been. Scott/Jean, but Logan's not a jerk.
1. Chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Because I totally forgot it when I originally uploaded… It should be painfully obvious, but I own nothing where these characters are concerned, except my own private fantasies (some of which may show up in the fic…).

I should also note that the story is complete, at about 96,000 words (yeah, it's a novel), but I'll be posting about one chapter a week to give me time to write the next story…

Thanks to all who've reviewed the first chapter. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

XXXX

Jean watched Scott and Ororo as they tried to get the Blackbird to start. Everyone knew what was coming, what the results of her fight with Scott had caused in the Alkali Dam. If the Blackbird didn't get off the ground soon, they'd be inundated.

Scott -- even though she sensed panic beneath his thoughts, he looked mostly calm. That was Scott, though, she thought with a bit of a smile.

Logan hovered between Scott and Ororo, unable to help. She'd been in his position many times before.

This time, though, she could help, and she would.

No one noticed when she turned and limped toward the rear hatch. Each painful step brought back memories of that fight with Scott deep within the dam. She'd felt the power break during that fight, felt it rush through her. It was the only reason she was still alive, the only reason she'd been able to break him free of whatever chemical Stryker had used to control him.

Even when the rear hatch lowered, no one paid her the slightest bit of attention. And she hadn't even had to suggest it. She wasn't sure whether to be amused or angry by that.

She limped around to stand in front of the Blackbird. It took longer than she would have liked, but while the power surged, she needed the reassurance of seeing what she was doing. At least mostly, she corrected herself as she reached out to the Blackbird's systems.

For the second time in less than a day, she was grateful for Scott's insistence that everyone on the team learn not just to fly the Blackbird but to repair it, in case of emergency. She'd have to remind him that Logan hadn't been trained on either of those yet, when she was done.

There -- she felt the power connections deep within the Blackbird's innards touch, ignite. Oh, and the rear hatch needed to be closed, too. With a thought, it was done.

The crack of the dam breaking echoed over the valley, followed by the thunderous rush of water heading toward her. Why wasn't the Blackbird lifting?

_Jean!_ It was Scott's voice in her head, an echo, no doubt, of a shout. _What are you doing?_

She ignored him, had to concentrate on getting the Blackbird out of the path of the flood rushing toward them.

A hand up to ward off the water, or at least to divert it around her and the jet. Then back to the Blackbird. What was wrong?

She didn't have time to run through a complete diagnostic, not when holding the entire lake at bay tired her this quickly. The only thing to do --

Jean let the power surging through her surround the Blackbird. If she could lift it high enough before she collapsed under the weight of the lake, Scott was a good enough pilot to make an emergency water landing. It would buy the rest of the team the time they needed, even if it meant her death.

Fair trade, her life for theirs.

She reached out to touch Charles's mind -- the effort to touch anyone else's right now was a distraction she couldn't afford, and she knew he'd maintain the link once she started it.

Even as the Blackbird rose into the air, she spoke to Charles, trusting him to relay her words to Scott, the team. It was a farewell, and though she wanted to touch Scott's mind one last time, she couldn't spare the effort, nor did she want him to feel when she collapsed. When she died.

She heard Scott's answer through the link with Charles, and she could only say, "I love you."

Finally, finally, the Blackbird was far enough above the lake that it would survive. She could let the strain on her body ease.

After all those times she and Charles had explored what might lie on the other side of death, she'd never expected to find out so soon. Maybe she'd be able to tell him.

The roar of the Blackbird's engines finally catching barely reached her. She stared at the wall of water facing her, and let the shield drop.

What was that smell? Sulfur? Was she in hell already?

Then she felt strong arms wrapping around her, and a moment's disorientation. Then she recognized the interior of the Blackbird -- and even more of a sulfuric smell. She gagged.

"Sorry."

he recognized that German accent and blinked at Kurt Wagner. "You --?" He nodded, ducking his head in that shy way he had, and she smiled. "Thank you."

Now that she could focus again, she saw the relief etched in the faces of those around her -- Charles, Logan, Kurt, Bobby, Marie. Ororo and Scott still fought the Blackbird for control.

"How's that leg?" Logan asked. "Need it wrapped?" Her surprise must have shown in her expression, because he chuckled. "I can do field medicine. Anything beyond that's your job."

She smiled at him. "That would be good, thanks."

- - - - -

Scott hadn't lowered his mental shields the entire trip back to Westchester, and Jean was starting to worry. It had been a long time since he'd shielded that much, especially against her.

The block lasted while she visited the infirmary and confirmed that her ankle was in fact only sprained, not fractured. It lasted while she showered away the stink of battle and changed the bandage on her ankle. It lasted while they grabbed a bite to eat in the kitchen with the rest of the team. It lasted through the informal debriefing Scott conducted -- the full debriefing and evaluation would come tomorrow, after they'd rested.

It lasted, in fact, until Scott closed the door of their apartment behind them and yanked her against his chest, holding her more tightly than he ever had before.

_Jean._ Just her name, but the flood of emotion behind it was stronger than the wall of water she'd faced hours before.

Reflexively, she almost put up her own shields in the way Charles had taught her in those days when any stray thought might overwhelm her. But this was Scott Summers, Cyclops, the only person ever to have full and unfettered access to her mind. She couldn't close him out.

_I almost lost you. Twice._ He didn't verbalize the thought, but the knowledge that he was almost the cause of losing her ate at him, filling his mind with anguish.

_Scott._ She pulled back, as far as he'd let her, looked up at him. Not for the first time, she wished she could look into his eyes, not just the glasses he had to wear to keep his power in check.

Wait -- her powers -- she could.

_Trust me?_ She asked. The question surprised him away from his exploration of her mind, his way of reassuring himself that she was still here, still alive.

He didn't bother to verbalize his response, just let her feel his disappointment that she felt the need to ask the question. Then she reached for his glasses, and he stiffened.

_Trust me._ This time it was an order, though much gentler than the ones he gave in battle.

She pulled the glasses down his nose, let them float onto the nearest table. Of course he clamped his eyes shut, she thought, and her amusement leaked through their link. He made a mental noise of frustration, and she soothed him without words.

Jean stretched out her telekinetic sense, looking for the power behind his eyelids. Strange -- she'd seen the destruction his optic blasts could cause; they should feel stronger to her than they did.

She found the blasts, pushed the energy back, back against Scott's eyes, then inside, holding it at bay like a dam.

_Not the best analogy, under the circumstances._

She had to laugh at Scott's dry observation. _But it's working. I can feel it. Open your eyes._

She expected the hesitation, the fear. But he did trust her. Slowly, cautiously, ready to slam them shut if the need arose, he opened his eyes.

The energy he contained pushed at her block, but she held it, watching as his eyes faded from glowing red orbs to the most beautiful blue eyes she'd ever seen.

_Men aren't supposed to be beautiful._ It wasn't really a rebuke, or even a joke. Scott was distracted, enjoying seeing her as she was, without the filter of ruby glasses. _You are._

She felt his love through their link and raised her mouth to his.

The kiss was tentative, exploratory, and it reminded Jean of their first kiss so many years ago. She let that memory surface so Scott could share it, was only a little surprised when he offered his own memory of it.

Then his memory shifted, to the first time they'd made love, and he deepened the kiss, barely allowing them to break apart for a breath before diving back in. Then he jerked back, frowned down at her. _You're hurting._

_Huh?_ And then she realized that her ankle was, in fact, throbbing. She'd been standing on her tiptoes without realizing it, and the added pressure had built until Scott had picked it up through their link even before she'd realized it.

She didn't pick up Scott's intention before he'd scooped her into his arms. She laughed aloud as he carried her to their bed and lay her gently down. He took off her sandals, the only shoes she owned that she could wear with the bandage wrapped on her ankle.

And then he unfastened the slacks she wore and, catching her underwear with his thumbs, slid them both down her legs and made sure not to jostle her injured ankle as he pulled them completely off her.

His mind within the link had stilled to that intensity she normally only felt when they were in combat. Having it directed toward her -- that was new.

Once her pants and underwear were neatly folded over the chair near the bed, Scott held out his hand to her. She took his hand and he pulled her up to a sitting position. With that same wordless focus, he pulled her shirt over her head and folded it with her slacks and then unfastened her bra. When it, too, rested on the chair, he stepped back, simply looking at her.

Heat flooded her cheeks while he studied her, inch by inch. He wasn't thinking about sex, wasn't really thinking at all, but his gaze held all of his love and the memories of their times together. And then the focus of his mind relaxed, and all she felt was his love for her, embodied in those memories.

She should be embarrassed -- the way he looked at her, his thoughts, his frank appreciative gaze.

_Never embarrassed, Jean. Not with me._

And then he stepped forward, resting one knee on the edge of the bed to kiss her again.

Before it could deepen too far, he pulled back. _You're not interested in more right now._

She flushed. _Sorry._

_You're hurting. Of course you're not interested._ Amusement, affection, and frustration colored his thoughts. _There'll be other nights._

And he started to undress as deliberately as he had undressed her. She took the opportunity to appreciate him as he'd appreciated her moments before. Not for the first time, she admired him. Besides being the finest tactician she knew of, besides loving her, besides all of those things, he was, bluntly, built. She'd explored that body often enough with teeth, tongue, and hands, but she'd rarely just looked at him.

Then he was in bed next to her, pulling her against him as he did every night. The link wouldn't let him hide that he was disappointed she wasn't interested, but it also couldn't hide how much he loved her and considered her wishes more important than his own.

_One thing. _

_Hm? _

_Mind putting my glasses on the nightstand?_

- - - - -

Jean woke to the feel of Scott's hand stroking her shoulder and arm. She'd turned away from him as she slept, and he'd spooned close behind her.

"Morning." His voice rumbled low in her ear, and he kissed her neck. "Feeling better?"

"Sprained ankles always hurt for a few days. But it is better now, at least a little."

"Good." She felt the main reason for his approval pressing against her buttocks as his hand slipped lower along her arm, then over her stomach.

She started to roll in his arms to face him, but he held her still.

"Let me," he whispered. "Just enjoy."

There was no arguing with that tone, even whispered, and Jean rested her head back against his shoulder, arching her neck just a little so he would have better access.

His hands and mouth blazed exploring trails over her body, and finally he moved away so he could encourage her to lie on her back as he propped on one elbow to lean over her. He brushed her hair, tangled from sleep, away from her eyes. "I love you."

He kissed her before she could respond, and she lost herself in his touch and his mind, reveling in that closeness she'd never shared with anyone else.

Later, when he held her, she couldn't help chuckling. "So much for crack of dawn runs."

"Debriefing day. No run on debriefing day."

"New rule?" She loved to tease him out of his characteristic seriousness.

He dropped a kiss on her hair. "We all need to recover." _Some of us more than others._

She knew what he meant. _Scott… it's okay. It wasn't you attacking me. I know that._

_It was me. My body, my blasts._

_But not you. I saw inside you, remember?_

He pulled her closer. _I remember you severing the ties that controlled me._

_It was already wearing out of your system. I just helped it along._

_Whatever you did, I'm glad you did it._

She turned in his arms to kiss him again, let the link deepen as she did.

_Ask you something?_ His mental voice was more tentative than she'd heard it in years.

_Anything._

She felt him pointing to a shielded place inside her thoughts. _What's this? It wasn't there before._

_I need to tell you about that, but I think you may have enough on your mind already._ 'That' was the kiss Logan had given her in the woods, but she was careful not to let even a hint of memory out from behind the shields.

_And wondering isn't going to be on my mind?_ A host of complex emotions lay behind that near-teasing tone, and Jean tried to sort them out. Most people were emotionally simple, but not Scott. _Jean?_ he prompted when she didn't answer quickly enough.

_As much as you're already dealing with --_ she broke off. Now he knew he wouldn't like whatever she had to say. Of course he'd suspected, but now he knew.

_I don't need to be protected. I'm not a kid anymore._ No teasing now, not even a hint of it. _Just tell me. I'd rather know._

She let the shield drop, and gave him the memory. His mind, always quieter than most people's, went totally still.

_You didn't say yes._ His comment, when it finally came, wasn't what she'd expected.

_What?_

_When he challenged you._

_"I love him."_

_"Do you?"_

"You didn't say yes," Scott repeated aloud. He'd shown her the exchange he meant, then pulled back from the mindlink. "If you had, he would've backed off. But you didn't."


	2. Chapter 2

Logan slipped into the conference room. He didn't mean to sneak in, but stealth came naturally to him. Even without his full memory, he knew it always had. Ororo already sat near the head of the table, he noticed, at Scott's right hand. Or it would be, when Scott arrived.

Logan returned Ororo's smile of greeting, glared at Charles in response to the other man's, "Hello, Logan." Charles actually winced, just a little, but it showed that he'd felt Logan's anger, the anger that had been building since the talk with Magneto in the woods.

_"The professor trusted you were smart enough to discover this on your own. He gives you more credit than I do."_

The words had haunted him since he'd heard them, teased at his memory like a stripper desperate for tips. He'd have words for Charles, after this meeting, after his words with Scott, too.

Speaking of Scott -- those footsteps approaching were definitely his. Scott barely nodded to Logan, gave a slight smile to Ororo and Charles. Yeah, that was about right.

He listened for Jean's step. It shouldn't be hard to hear, not with the limp she'd still have. His healing factor would've dealt with her ankle in minutes, but she'd have to recover like anyone else.

"Morning." Her voice at the door surprised him, and he frowned. He hadn't heard her approach -- which should be impossible, given her injury and his enhanced senses. Then she moved to a chair, and he understood. He hadn't heard her step because she hadn't walked. Instead, she levitated herself an inch or so off the floor to keep from putting weight on the injured ankle. It made sense, he had to admit, even if it did screw with his perceptions.

Jean glided into the room and chose the seat closest to the door, propping her foot on the chair beside her. She'd changed the wrapping he'd put on it, probably after an X-ray. But it wasn't in a cast, which told him it was just a sprain instead of a break.

He still recalled the feel of her skin under his touch when he'd wrapped it. Softer than anyone else he'd touched -- she'd shaved her legs recently, and used some kind of lotion on them. The scent of it hit his nostrils and went straight to his groin, something musky and earthy and screaming of sex. Even the memory of it threatened to make him hard, and he forced himself to remember his escape from the Alkali Lake facility, running naked into the Canadian winter. Yeah, that would cool a man down. Except maybe Bobby.

"There's a lot to cover this morning, and we need to get through it before Peter and the students get back," Scott said, and Logan focused on the younger man. "First and simplest -- Ororo, set up a training schedule. All the X-Men need to learn to fly the jet. You and I will share the teaching duties."

"Logan's the only one who doesn't know how to fly," Ororo pointed out. "I can teach him."

"Not just Logan," Scott said, and Logan watched surprise ripple around the table -- even Jean. He had an idea where Scott was taking this, settled in to watch the others' reactions. "Stryker's attack here was just the beginning of what we might face in the future. It could've been a lot worse, but there's no reason it should've been as bad as it was."

"None of the X-Men were here, other than Logan," Jean said. "You were with the professor, and Ororo and I were tracking Kurt."

"That's my point," Scott said. "We need more X-Men -- more people ready for combat."

"Peter." The name was out almost before he thought, but he wouldn't withdraw it. He'd heard that Peter had taken down two of the invaders, and Logan knew for himself that Peter had gotten the majority of the students to safety, and then offered to help cover their retreat. If Scott had half the talent for command that Logan was beginning to suspect he did, Peter would be a squad leader in the near future.

Scott nodded at Logan's suggestion. "Yes, Peter. And Bobby," Scott added. "He needs to settle down a bit, but X-training will do that."

Ororo and Jean chuckled. Logan decided to reserve judgment until he saw just what Scott's version of training involved.

"They're too young," Charles said. "They won't graduate until next year."

"We can't afford to wait," Scott said. "There's no telling when the next Stryker will come at us. Or even if it's just Magneto we're facing, we need a bigger team."

"Rogue."

That drew a frown from Scott. "You sure? She's got to touch someone to be effective. Not always possible in combat."

Logan shrugged. "She's got grit. I'd take her at my back any day, power or no."

"I don't like this," Charles declared. "You're talking about taking children and training them as soldiers."

"They become soldiers, or we all become victims." Scott's words might've been too dramatic for Logan's taste, but he agreed with the sentiment. "I don't like it, either, but it's necessary. Stryker and Magneto made it necessary."

"Kitty, too," Jean said.

"She's even younger than the others," Ororo objected. "And shy."

"But she has a skill set we need," Jean countered. "And I don't mean that she can walk through walls. She's the only one of us who can hope to match Mystique's computer skills."

Scott looked thoughtful. Not for the first time, Logan wondered how the man could be so expressive when his eyes were always covered. Then again, maybe that was the entire reason.

"It will also be good to have someone else who can help repair Cerebro," Charles said.

"Do we want to repair it?"

Scott's simple question stunned everyone. Logan tried not to smile when he saw Ororo's jaw literally drop open. Jean stiffened, and Charles' eyes went wide.

"Of course." Charles recovered faster than the others -- or else simply spoke sooner. "We need it."

"Why?"

"So we can find mutants in trouble and help them," Ororo answered before Charles could speak. "It's how we found Marie and Logan. And how Jean found out Magneto was going to be at Liberty Island."

"Jean?" Charles's concern shifted momentarily to Jean. "You used Cerebro?"

"It was the only way to find him," Jean said. She sounded defensive, Logan thought. But under that, he could tell that she liked using Cerebro, liked taking the risk, liked using her power. He felt an unfamiliar pride swelling inside as Jean met the professor's disapproving gaze without flinching. That's my girl. Don't let him hold you back.

"Cerebro's been attacked twice," Scott said, drawing attention back to him. "Once it nearly killed you, Professor. And once it could've killed everyone. So I ask again, do we want to repair it?"

A minute of silence stretched to two.

"If it's up to a vote, I vote no." Logan caught the momentary flash of surprise in Scott's expression, concealed a grin. "Too easy to breach its security."

"It has retinal scan locks," Ororo said.

"Which Mystique got past," Logan said. "And Stryker forced. We can't stop Mystique, but we need to prevent it being forced."

"We need to be better prepared than we have been, yes," Scott said. "That's the main reason for bringing Peter and the others into the team. It's also why I plan to talk to the government about working with them."

Logan snarled over the surprised exclamations from Jean and Ororo. "I got a beef with the government."

"We all do," Ororo said. "Sure, the president hasn't laid the blame for what happened yesterday at mutants' feet yet -- yet -- but it's only a matter of time before he does."

"Not if we talk to them first and explain what happened." Scott still sounded calm. "They're simply not equipped to handle someone like Magneto. We are."

"You'd be giving them methods of handling us, too." Ororo's voice was flat.

"And we wouldn't have to hide anymore. We're the good guys," Scott said. "Good guys don't hide."

"It was Edmund Burke who said that the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." Jean spoke quietly.

"We aren't doing nothing," Logan snapped. "We stopped Magneto at Liberty Island, and we stopped Stryker and Magneto both at Alkali Lake."

"And in both of those cases, we had to hide what we do," Scott said. "We have no authority to do anything. We're vigilantes -- and by definition, that makes us criminals." His expression hardened. "I'm no criminal."

"This is not a paramilitary organization," Charles said.

"Yes, Professor, it is." Scott sounded firm. "The moment we got into conflict with Magneto's people, we became a paramilitary organization. Even rescuing mutants in trouble makes us so."

"And we did have to avoid the Air Force when we left Boston," Jean said. "I felt both the pilots eject -- but we shouldn't be fighting them if we don't have to."

Scott didn't shift his stance or his expression, but Logan sensed that behind the ruby quartz glasses, Scott had fixed his gaze on him. "Things have changed," Scott said. "Magneto's raised the stakes. Stryker's raised the stakes. They're not going to get lowered. We have to be ready -- and we can't fight that threat while we're fighting or dodging government troops too."

"How do you plan to get them to listen to you?" Logan asked.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Scott's face. "They want to know what happened yesterday, and we can tell them. We have witnesses -- Kurt, me. And…I have contacts."

"Might be one other witness," Logan said. Scott raised one eyebrow in a gesture for him to explain. "Stryker's assistant."

"I thought you killed her," Jean said.

"She's got a healing factor like mine. She might recover from what I did to her. Need to strap her down, though, until we know where her mind is."

"You think she was controlled?" Ororo asked.

"It's possible. Jean, you'll have to open her up and clear the junk out of her."

Jean turned just enough in her seat that she could look over her shoulder at him. "That's once someone's brought her back from Alkali Lake."

"I'll go get her."

"Not alone," Scott said. "Kitty and Peter can help get her out, and you'll need someone to fly the jet. Ororo -- that's you."

"We'll leave once we're done here," Ororo said. Logan nodded agreement, even though it meant postponing his conversation with Charles. He wouldn't forget, though.

"Last thing. Professor, we need to know whether Jean's powers have stabilized or not."

Logan frowned. "Stabilized?"

Some communication passed between Charles and Jean, and Charles looked up at Logan. "When I first met Jean, her telekinesis was -- astounding."

"I was a brat," Jean said. "I levitated everything I could see outside the window -- the car Charles and Erik arrived in, Mr. Claremont's lawn mower, even the water coming out of Mr. Lee's hose. Just to show off."

Logan had to chuckle. That fiery spirit manifested early, he thought. Maybe it had manifested with her power? He shrugged mentally -- it wasn't important. "And?" he asked when both Jean and Charles remained silent.

"With her parents' approval," Charles said, "I placed blocks in Jean's mind -- she wasn't ready to handle the power level she had."

"The first block came down when I used Cerebro," Jean said. "Another one fell in the flight out of Boston -- you mentioned it, Logan." He nodded, though she couldn't see him where he stood. "And another one at Alkali Lake."

"Is that all of them?" Logan asked, giving thanks to the god he'd pretty much stopped believing in that his voice came out normally. There were blocks in her mind before -- that's why she'd seemed such a contradiction to him when they first met. Hell, she was still a contradiction, all prim glasses and smart clothes while underneath lay a passion that should leave second degree burns with just a touch.

"Impossible to say without a diagnostic mindlink," Charles said.

"You don't have to do it right now," Scott said. "Within the next few days." After Jean and Charles acknowledged that, Scott said, "That's it. Ororo, get your team ready. I'll make the call to Washington this afternoon."

This was it, the moment Logan had been waiting for throughout the entire meeting, and his words struck with the precision of his claws. "What about you? You lost it back there."

The easy-going Scott Summers vanished in a heartbeat. Cyclops, the X-Men's team leader stood before him, in khaki slacks and a button-down shirt instead of leather. "I'd intended to bring up personal performance issues privately, but I can discuss them now if you want. Starting with you."

"Me?" He hadn't expected a counter-attack, certainly not so quickly, and the moment of surprise was all the other man needed.

"Yes, you. You took off your comlink and went off alone without notifying anyone, much less securing the acknowledgment of your team commander." Logan didn't bother to protest, because it was simply truth. Scott pressed the advantage. "The lone wolf thing may've worked for you until now, but it won't work if you're on this team. So you have a choice -- be part of this team, and don't go off like that again." He paused just a beat for emphasis. "Or you can be the lone wolf, and go on your way. There's no middle ground in this."

The really irritating thing about Scott's glasses was they made it damn near impossible to stare the man down. Logan didn't let that irritation show just as he didn't let his surprise at having the tables turned on him show.

Even more irritating, Scott had the advantage now. Not only had he deflected the accusation against him, he'd brought one against Logan, and one that in light of their discussions at this debriefing would sound more serious. Ororo had tensed, and Jean sat absolutely still. Logan would bet good money that she wasn't broadcasting any signals psychically, either.

"Which is it, Logan? You with us or not?"

Logan bit back a growl. This round, he'd lost, and he could admit it. "I'm with you."

Scott kept his gaze on Logan for another heartbeat, then tilted his head slightly toward Jean. "Same warning, Jean. You left the Blackbird with no word to anyone. Never again."

"Does telepathic notification count?"

"I'd prefer verbal, so there's no question. Telepathy is fine when time's short." Scott waited for Jean's acknowledgment, then looked back at Logan. "As for my reaction -- it won't happen again."

Checkmate. Logan chomped on his unlit cigar, bit back a grimace when he tasted tobacco on his tongue. Why the hell weren't cigar wrappers strong enough to withstand a chomp?

Scott dismissed the meeting, and Jean floated beside Charles as he wheeled out of the room. Jean didn't even glance at him as she passed, instead appeared to be deep in some telepathic conversation with the professor. Odd, Logan thought, considering how she'd flirted with him the day before. But there was the question of her power-up, and he supposed that would be uppermost in her mind.

He took one last breath of Jean's perfumed scent, then crossed to join Scott and Ororo where they were discussing the rescue mission to Alkali Lake. If it weren't for his enhanced senses, he wouldn't have noticed Scott's slight tension. He hid a predator's grin. He might've lost this round to Scott, but he still made the other man uneasy. Good.


	3. Chapter 3

Jean left the professor's office feeling drained. His examination of her mind after the debriefing had been far more thorough than usual, but in the end he agreed with her assessment that her powers had stabilized. The blocks he'd placed in her mind had been necessary, but no longer were. She'd grown up, he told her with pride. She no longer needed artificial controls.

She wasn't as sure as he was -- Scott's comment from a week ago still haunted her. _"Now, whenever you have a nightmare, the whole room shakes."_

More than once, she'd kept herself awake, hoping not to have a nightmare, terrified of unintentionally hurting Scott with her power. Was that how he felt all the time?

She glided through the hall and up the stairs, still using her telekinesis to avoid putting weight on her injured ankle. A headache, legacy of Charles' intense psychic examination of her, threatened to explode behind her eyes, and in the absence of Logan's healing ability, she hoped a nap would help. Assuming she could sleep around the noise and additional jumbled thoughts from the workmen already on site repairing the damage Stryker's men had done in the assault.

Jean opened the door and stepped inside the two-room suite she and Scott had shared for five years, blinked in surprise when she saw the briefcase lying on the couch. Neither she nor Scott were ones to leave things lying around, so that meant --

"Hey." Scott stood framed in the bedroom doorway, knotting a tie around his neck. "How's the ankle?"

"Better than my head, at the moment." She followed him back into the bedroom and sat on the bed.

"Professor examined you already?"

"He thinks my power's stabilized." The vest and blazer matching the navy slacks he wore lay on the foot of the bed, and she reached over to finger the soft wool blend. "Going to a fancy party with someone besides me?"

"Uh-huh. Kurt." He fastened the top button of his shirt.

"Your type suddenly changed to blue, furry, and male?" Jean couldn't help teasing him.

She saw his grin in the mirror as he adjusted the collar of his shirt over his tie. "It's a meeting with the Joint Chiefs, a couple of Senators, maybe the Vice President."

"Already?" Jean couldn't keep the surprise from her voice. "I thought they'd make us wait a week at least."

"They want answers, and we've got them." Scott snugged the knot of his tie into place.

Jean watched him fasten his cuffs, and the question she'd been burning to ask for hours popped from her mouth. "Is it true, what Logan said at the debriefing?"

"What?" She thought he was looking at her in the mirror, but his glasses made it hard to tell.

"That --" she took a breath, and started over. "He said you lost it. I assume he meant in the jet?"

"Couldn't you tell?" He turned away from the mirror, picked up the vest, slid it on.

"I was busy."

His expression didn't change, and she regretted the attempt at humor. "Busy holding back the water, getting the jet in the air, talking to Charles instead of me."

"He took over the link once I started it," Jean said quietly. "I couldn't -- I didn't know what would happen if I tried to link and do the rest."

"Say it." Scott took the few steps that brought him to stand in front of her. "The rest of it."

"The rest?" She looked up at him, feeling her forehead tensing in concentration.

He rested his palms on either side of her face. "That you didn't want me to feel you die."

He knew. How?

His thumb stroked her cheek. "You didn't hide that from me last night. Jean --"

He paused, and she felt his mind reaching for hers. Most non-telepaths could learn a basic level of shielding, but never learned to push their thoughts forward to get a telepath's attention. Once they'd decided to move in together, Scott had determined to learn how, and spent months practicing. Now, years later, he'd mastered the trick, and opening a link in response to his push was second nature.

_You don't have to protect me. Not from you dying. Not from your new power level._ He bent forward, pressed a soft kiss against her mouth, and she slid her hands up his arms to rest at his shoulders as he explored her. Then he pulled back and she could feel him looking into her eyes, almost see his own eyes behind the ruby quartz lenses. _And you don't have to protect me from your feelings._

_I'm not --_

"Yes, you are." He let his hands drop from her face, and she missed their warmth. "You didn't tell me about the blocks in your mind, even when things started flying around the room with some regularity."

She hadn't dropped the link, and she felt his hurt and disappointment through it. "Scott --"

"Let me finish." She nodded, and he raised his hands to finish buttoning his vest. "I don't know why you think you need to protect me. Maybe it's because you're older than me. Whatever -- the reason doesn't matter." She felt him distancing from their link, and she let it drop. "But know this," he continued. "I love you. I'm not going to walk away from you -- from us. Just like I wouldn't have refused a link at Alkali Lake. No matter what had happened."

Her throat felt full, and she opened her mouth only to find she couldn't force words out.

"I do have to go, though." If there were a way to combine regret and a sense of odd humor, Scott's tone just now did that. "The Joint Chiefs are expecting us, and this is too important to screw up."

She smoothed his collar, though it was already flat. "I envy you, in a way. You didn't have time to get nervous about it, like I did before my Senate testimony."

"I'm plenty nervous," he assured her. "But it has to be done, and no sense putting it off."

She kissed him and then wiped the trace of lip gloss from his mouth. "See you when you get back."


	4. Chapter 4

So here we go with Chapter Four… Chapter Five will either be posted really early (like, say, Tuesday night) or a bit late (like the following Monday), due to travel plans that will prevent me from posting on the weekend.

I hope you're all enjoying this!

X X X X X

"Are you sure this is wise?" Kurt Wagner's soft German accent echoed in the cockpit of the Blackbird as the Washington, DC skyline came into view. "The last time I was here did not end so well."

"I was assured we have safe passage, both ways," Scott replied.

"And after this meeting? What then?"

Scott glanced over at his blue-skinned companion. "Then you're free to do what you will." At Kurt's somewhat skeptical expression, he added, "That's what we're about, Kurt. We're about mutants being free to make their own choices, just like everyone else is. If you want to stay, we'd love to have you. But we'd never force you."

Kurt nodded, but Scott wasn't certain he was convinced. Further discussion was cut off by the crackling of the intercom with a request for identification. Scott had chosen not to engage the full cloaking device, but part of his and Hank's modifications to the basic Blackbird design had been adding stealth material and configuration. He'd have to tell Hank just how close he'd gotten to Washington before being challenged.

There was a moment's confusion as the controller at Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling-Naval Research Laboratory, D.C, tried to tell him that fixed-wing aircraft were forbidden. He explained that not only did his craft have VTOL capability, the Joint Chiefs themselves had authorized his landing at Bolling. A few moments of static were enough to have Kurt asking, "What is wrong?"

"Somebody didn't get an order, probably," Scott kept his voice nonchalant, though this snafu did not bode well for the meeting to follow. "I'm not panicking yet."

Kurt's expression said he was panicking enough for both of them. Crisp instructions for landing filled the cockpit and Kurt relaxed again.

Scott followed those instructions and brought the Blackbird gently down on the helipad that was the only available landing space at Bolling. He shut down the Blackbird's systems and turned to face Kurt. Oddly angled sun streaming into the cockpit made Kurt look somewhat demonic, Scott thought.

"Relax, Kurt. Nobody knows it was you who attacked the President the other day. Just follow my lead, and we'll be fine."

- - - - -

Forty-five minutes later, Scott wouldn't have blamed Kurt if he'd simply teleported away. They'd been met at Bolling by an armed escort and driven to the Pentagon. Although the security staff had been notified of their arrival, they'd done a double take at Kurt's appearance. Scott had reassured them, and just when he thought things were going relatively well, his glasses set off the metal detector and he got to see first hand just how efficient the United States military forces could be.

Well, to be honest, he hadn't actually seen it, since one man had grabbed his arms and the other grabbed his glasses. He slammed his eyes tight shut, hoping he hadn't hurt anyone. No, the only voices he heard were agitated, not agonizing.

"Never seen anything like these." "That night vision?" "What the hell are these?"

When the babble of voices faded a bit, Scott said, "They're not a weapon. They're to control my ability. Yes, they have night vision, because otherwise I couldn't see squat through them after dark. Try it if you want." He kept his voice calm, like he spoke to young, scared kids when they first came to the mansion, through an effort of will. When his power had first manifested, he'd had to keep his eyes tightly shut for months until Hank and Jean had figured out what could contain his blasts and actually made the glasses. The first pair had been simple -- just ruby quartz goggles so he could actually see. He'd helped with the successive incarnations of glasses, until this most recent version, now in the hands of some security officer.

"No prescription," someone said.

"My vision's fine," Scott replied in the same calm tone. "I just need the glasses to control my ability."

A low discussion that they probably thought he didn't hear ensued. Spending months effectively blind had heightened his other senses, especially his hearing. Oh, he was no Logan, but he could follow the discussion about whether or not to let him have the glasses. He kept his expression impassive, though if they didn't return the glasses, he'd be unable to conduct the meeting.

He was just about to suggest that a guard accompany him to his meeting -- inconvenient, but nothing that couldn't be endured -- when a new voice said, "Give him back the glasses, son."

"But, sir, they could be dangerous."

"It wasn't a suggestion."

Scott carefully hid his smile as the officer slapped the glasses against his palm. At least, Scott thought, he didn't try to put them on for me. He settled the glasses into place, and opened his eyes.

"That's better," the newcomer said, then held out his hand to Scott. "Good to see you."

"And you, sir," Scott shook his father's hand. He knew the rules. In public, "Dad" was always "General Summers" or "Sir." "Major General Christopher Summers, I'd like you to meet Kurt Wagner."

Summers nodded to Kurt, offered his hand without flinching. "A pleasure."

Kurt barely nodded, his gaze flickering between the two men. Scott knew he resembled his father, but now wasn't the time to discuss family history.

"Hear you've got a meeting," Summers said as Scott gathered his briefcase.

"Hear you might be attending that meeting," Scott replied in the same casual tone his father used. They weren't as close as some, but over the years, they'd at least learned to respect each other.

Summers shrugged one shoulder. "Only because they think I'll have some insight into you they won't. Meantime, I figured you could use a guide. Takes a while to learn your way around here, but once you do, it's easy."

"Thanks. I looked at the plans before we landed, but seeing it is completely different." He should've expected the stark, almost sterile feel of the place, even if it hadn't originally been built as a hospital as so many people thought. It was a place of efficiency, built in response to Hitler's threat to enable the United States military to coordinate and act quickly, and there'd been no reason to add major decorations to the corridors in the intervening decades.

"It is, indeed. At least all the renovations are done, so we don't have to detour anymore. Can you and your friend stay for supper tonight?"

Scott glanced at Kurt. "How about it, Kurt? Think you can stand dinner with my family?"

Kurt looked surprised, but nodded. "I would like it very much."

Summers turned to a junior officer Scott assumed had to be his father's assistant. "Call Katherine, will you, and tell her we'll have two more for dinner. Don't tell her it's Scott."

"That's just mean." Scott couldn't help grinning. That his mother hated surprises never stopped his father from planning them.

Summers paused outside a door flanked by two guards. "Scott." Scott knew that severe tone. This time, at least, it didn't mean that he'd be sent to his room or, far more rarely, spanked.

"Sir?"

"Whatever's going on," Summers lowered his voice, "this is not going to be an easy audience. They're out for blood. Make sure you don't give them yours."

It was as close to encouragement as he'd get, Scott thought with grim humor. "I have another sacrifice planned," was all he said, though.

Summers gave him a darkly inquiring look, but a guard opened the door and cut off further conversation. His first impression of the conference room was of somewhat luxurious utility, an upgraded version of the military efficiency that ruled the corridors. His focus, though, was on the people gathered, not the décor.

The one big advantage his glasses offered him was that he could observe without being obvious. A glance around the room told him that all of the Joint Chiefs were present -- he recognized them from the official photographs he'd found on the Internet during his too-brief preparation for this meeting. Other, slightly lower ranking, officers sat around the table as well. And at the head of the table --

He'd felt more than heard the stutter in Kurt's step, but only now as his gaze traveled up the long conference table did he realize why. At the head of the table sat President McKenna, and he'd recognized Kurt a heartbeat before Kurt had recognized him.

"What's he doing here?" McKenna demanded. The meeting was off to a less than auspicious start.

"As I said when I called earlier, Mr. President," Scott said, "we have the answers you're looking for. Mr. Wagner has material information."

"He tried to kill me." McKenna's declaration sent the Secret Service and other guards reaching for their guns.

"And we were guaranteed safe passage in and out," Scott countered. "It was one of the conditions of this meeting. Once you hear what we have to say, you might feel more charitable toward Mr. Wagner."

Guns still pointed at them. He held himself still, outwardly calm, trusting that Kurt would, in fact, follow his lead.

"I'm not used to trusting a man when I can't look in his eyes," McKenna said.

"You don't want to look in my eyes, sir," Scott replied. "They project beams of force. The only thing holding them back are these glasses."

"It's true, sir," his father said. "The ability manifested when he was thirteen." At the president's inquiring glance, Summers said simply, "He's my son."

The president looked between the two Summers men for a moment, then said, "At ease, men. I'll listen to what you have to say, Mr. Summers, but it had best be good."

"I believe it will be, Mr. President. Let me begin by summarizing events from the last month or so, beginning with the incident at Liberty Island during the United Nations conference."

- - - - -

"Jean?"

"Are you back already?" She turned from her review of Logan's chart at the sound of Scott's voice, stretching her mind toward the familiarity of his.

Her smile died on her lips when she found an unfamiliar static instead, and she ran through a quick check of items in her office that might be used as weapons. There weren't many -- and then she remembered that her telekinesis had stabilized and relaxed. She could handle this intruder.

The man who wasn't Scott smiled, and Jean suppressed a shudder at the coy nature of it. Scott would never smile like that. "I see you've realized I'm not your lover."

"Mystique, I presume?"

"I trust you'll listen to what I have to say before you sound an alarm."

"I don't need to sound an alarm," Jean countered. "But I'll listen, if only for the entertainment value."

"As long as you listen." Mystique even moved like Scott, Jean noticed, as she crossed the small space from door to desk. Jean willed herself not to flinch as Mystique bent down to speak close in her ear. "Erik is glad that your powers have finally matured."

"I'll just bet he is." Strange how the mind summoned memories long forgotten. _"Oh, Charles. I like this one."_

"He'll accept your thanks for helping them along tomorrow night at nine in Central Park. You'll be able to track him." Mystique leaned closer, her lips almost brushing Jean's ear. Jean wrinkled her nose at the spicy odor of cologne and aftershave. Scott never wore that much. "He asks that you consider this a favor to an old friend and former teacher, and not tell anyone you're coming."

"The better to set some trap," Jean said.

The sound of the laugh was Scott's, but the tone was more derisive than she'd ever heard him use. "You'd sense any trap a mile away. Not all of us have these." Mystique touched the glasses she wore, and Jean suddenly understood. They must be made the same as Erik's helmet. No wonder she'd only picked up static.

"Got a minute, Jean?"

Mystique just smiled at the sound of Logan's voice. "See you when I get back, hon," she said, then turned Jean's face toward hers for a kiss. Jean wanted nothing more than to send Mystique flying across the room and into Logan's claws, but she had to endure the kiss.

Mystique let the kiss linger far longer than Scott would have before straightening and turning to go. She pushed past Logan almost exactly as Scott would've done.

"Christ, lay off the aftershave, willya?" Logan muttered. "It stinks."

"What is it, Logan?" Jean asked. If she kept Logan focused on why he was here, maybe he wouldn't realize that the scent under the over-applied aftershave wasn't Scott's.

Logan scowled another moment at the retreating Mystique, then stepped fully into Jean's office. His glance flickered to the photo of her and Scott she kept beside her computer monitor, then he focused on her. "How's the ankle?"

"I've been wishing for your healing factor for --" she checked the clock --"about twenty hours now."

He had a nice grin, when he wasn't being sarcastic with it, she decided. "That mean you're functional enough for a mission?"

She had to laugh. "I'd say that depends on the mission."

"Could use you on the trip north," he said. "Even though we're going in at night, there's a good chance the Canadian authorities will be investigating the dam collapse."

He didn't have to finish that thought. Jean grimaced -- using her telepathy to influence others was distasteful but sometimes necessary. This mission looked to be one of those necessary times.

"And if she recovers in the middle of it, sooner than we think -- you can either reassure her or stop her." Logan shrugged as though to say that either possibility was about equal.

"I can do that," Jean said.

"Then let's go. Storm's prepping the jet, and Kitty and Peter are getting their gear."

In an unexpected courtesy, he held out his hand. Jean took it and stood, felt the rush of attraction she'd felt each time they'd touched. "I'll get a surgery kit," she said, thankful her voice held steady. Logan's enhanced senses probably already told him she'd felt it, but at least her voice didn't confirm it.

"Isn't there one on the jet?" His hand lingered a moment too long on hers, his thumb brushing her knuckles, and she fought the urge to squeeze it.

"Too cramped." Why couldn't she form a complete sentence? She limped to a storage cabinet. "A body lying prone doesn't take up much room, but facilities for me to scrub, storage for instruments and monitors, plus you never really know what you might need in terms of blood or plasma, do." She shook her head as she withdrew a sterile-wrapped packet. "When they were designing the modifications to the Blackbird, I argued for a small surgery, but was overruled because of weight and space issues. Besides, when we go supersonic, it's really only minutes to a hospital."

Okay, she'd gone from incomplete sentences to rambling. That wasn't good, either. But she really didn't need to be dealing with Logan right after dealing with Mystique.

"And any hospital would take a mutant who needs surgery?"

"They should -- at the very least, no doctor should refuse to treat a mutant." Jean grimaced. "That's not to say they don't, but they shouldn't."

"And you can be persuasive."

"If I have to be." She tucked the sterile pack into a tote and hefted it onto her shoulder. "You're sure you want to do this in the dark?"

He grinned. "Darkness never slows me down."

"And you're doing this alone? What about the rest of us?" She could tell he hadn't thought of that -- his expression alone would've told her, even if she hadn't felt the flash of surprise in his thoughts. He recovered quickly, though.

"Gets dark underwater real fast. And you've got lights in the jet for surgery if it comes to that."

Jean nodded, and limped toward the door.

"Not floating down to the jet?" Logan asked.

"I don't want to let the muscles get weaker than they already are. I figured I could levitate for short trips, but longer ones, I'll walk. It'll help when I get back to training, too."

"What kind of training?" Logan took two quick steps and opened her office door for her.

"The morning runs, the Danger Room workouts." Then it hit her. "You haven't seen the Danger Room yet, have you?"

"Danger Room?" He sounded skeptical. "What, you keep a bunch of dangerous people or things there?"

"Oh, absolutely. Machine guns, giant robots, vicious wild animals, collapsing buildings --"

"You keep a building in a room?" He'd gone beyond skeptical to outright disbelief.

"It's a virtual reality room," she said. "It gives the feel of a real fight but with none of the dangers."

"Sounds -- interesting."

"I think you'll like it."

"Can you program other things into it besides a fight? I mean, is it someplace you can use for downtime as well as training?"

"Downtime?" She shrugged. "I don't see why not. You can program almost anything into it."

"Then I'm sure I'll like it."

- - - - -

"What I'm proposing, gentlemen," Scott concluded some time later, "is that my team, the X-Men, serve as a sort of mutant special operations team. Because none of you are equipped to handle the threats that mutants can pose."

He took a sip from the glass of water that rested on the podium where he stood, watched the men gathered around the conference table. He'd told them what had nearly happened both at Liberty Island and at Alkali Lake, watched their expressions shift from disinterest to horror and then settle into attentiveness. He and Kurt both had been pummeled with questions about Stryker's mind-control drug, and the president had eventually accepted Kurt's abject apologies. Of course, that a search of Stryker's office conducted during the meeting turned up files outlining his plan had lent serious support to their story.

"You're suggesting a special forces team," Admiral Nussbaum, the chairman, said. "What kind of training have your people had in such operations?"

"More than yours have," Scott said. "Not to sound flippant, Admiral, but we live with mutations every day. We learn how to control them, how to use them, and yes, how to fight with them." He slipped a disk from its case and inserted it into his laptop. "I'll show you one of our routine training sessions."

Scott tapped a few keys and on the screen behind him appeared a recording of the last Danger Room training session he, Jean, and Ororo had gone through before Alkali Lake. He knew the scenario, had written the program for it himself, and reached up to adjust his glasses, using the motion to cover switching on the night vision to better judge his audience's responses. They were interested, he decided. Reluctantly interested, but interested nonetheless.

As the video came to an end, he switched off the night vision. No need to go blind when the lights came back on.

"Impressive," Nussbaum admitted. "But special forces go through additional physical training. If your team's going to work with the SEALs or the Rangers or Delta, you've got to be able to keep up with them."

"I'll guarantee my team can meet the appropriate physical standards." And then he had to grin. "Although my vision test might present a challenge."

Several of the men gathered chuckled, including his father. Scott blinked, once again grateful that his glasses made hiding reactions easier. Somewhere over the years, apparently, his father had grown more comfortable with his mutation. Maybe dinner tonight wouldn't be as uncomfortable as he'd expected.

"You're asking us to take a lot on trust, Mr. Summers -- especially considering that you want Mr. Wagner to walk away from this with no charges," President McKenna said. He was the only one in the room who didn't seem the least put off by Scott's glasses.

"I am," Scott acknowledged. "But I'm also prepared to give a piece of information that only we have."

"What information do you have that we don't?" Nussbaum asked.

Scott let the silence build for a moment, gauged their suspense, and then said, "A mutant has been masquerading as a member of Congress for about a month. We know who it is, and we have some evidence. It's not sufficient for a court of law, but it is enough to begin an investigation."

Interest gave way to consternation, and Scott let the flurry of exclamations die of its own accord. "She's a criminal," Scott said into the silence. "That doesn't change whether or not she's a mutant. Criminals should be brought to justice."

"You'll understand," General Jacobsen said, "if we ask the same question Senator Kelly did in the hearing last month. It's even more relevant given what we just saw. What's to prevent you or your people from walking through walls -- or turning against us?"

He'd expected the question, or some variation of it, but still Scott was disappointed that it had been asked. He let some of his disappointment show as he answered, "The same things that prevent the Rangers or the SEALs from turning traitor. Honor. Duty. Love of country. We may be mutants, but we're still human." For a brief moment, he wished Jean were there so he could take his glasses off and look each of the Joint Chiefs in the eye. But they had to accept mutants as they were, and he had to make or break his case on his own. "The vast majority of people are law-abiding citizens. Mutants would be, too, if we could coexist without violence. From either side. But as long as there are people like Magneto out there, they need to be countered. My team can. My team has."

"What about you, Mr. Wagner? What will you do if we let you walk out of this room?" President McKenna seemed very interested in Kurt's response.

"I will return to Germany. I did not want to leave it." Kurt's quiet statement was an unintentional reminder that he hadn't wanted to attack the president, either. Then again, perhaps it wasn't so unintentional, Scott thought. He didn't know Kurt well at all.

McKenna looked at Scott again. "This criminal mutant -- who is he impersonating?"

Scott studied the president for a brief moment, weighing whether or not to answer or to hold out until Kurt was safely on his way back to Germany. He went with his gut. "We know her as Mystique. She's been impersonating Senator Kelly since just after the summit at Ellis Island."

He watched the shock sink in. Then McKenna asked, "Where's the real Senator Kelly?"

"I don't know." It wasn't quite a lie, given what Ororo had said about Senator Kelly liquefying. He could still be alive somehow, somewhere. "We assume he's dead."

McKenna glanced at the others in the room, apparently reading something Scott couldn't in their expressions. Then he looked back at Scott. "Very well, Mr. Summers. We'll consider your proposal."


	5. Chapter 5

And here's chapter five. I still don't own 'em, and next chapter gets a touch steamy. I don't think it tops a T rating, so I won't be changing it; I just thought I'd give a general warning.

Thanks everyone for the very kind reviews; I'm sorry I haven't responded personally yet, and I will when I get a chance to breathe. Which may be August, at this point…

X X X X X

Jean zipped up her wetsuit, thankful for the cover it provided. Logan's thoughts when he saw her emerge from the jet in her swimsuit had been loud and lusty enough to send her to the pile of wetsuits sooner rather than later. She hoped she'd managed not to appear to rush in response to those thoughts, but she hadn't been ready for them, though she'd been lowering her psychic shields in preparation for the link she'd establish while they rescued Stryker's assistant.

A few feet to her right, Kitty double-checked the gauge on her oxygen tank. The girl almost radiated nerves, Jean thought -- no surprise, since she'd be taking the lead with her phasing power. She took a limping step and put a hand on Kitty's shoulder. "How are you doing?"

Kitty straightened. "Okay, I guess." She glanced around, lowered her voice. "It's just a big responsibility, you know?"

Jean chuckled. "Oh, I know. I remember the first surgery I ever did solo. I had the biggest attack of nerves right before. But you know what?"

"What?"

"Once you get into it, all your training and instincts take over. You'll do fine."

"You think so?" Kitty looked almost painfully hopeful.

"I know so." She gave Kitty a one-armed hug. "C'mon, let's get started. Give you less time to be nervous."

She felt Logan's gaze on her again as she crossed to the water. He'd been more open about watching her on this trip, since he'd watched Mystique kiss her. Not, of course, that Logan knew it was Mystique -- which was why his interest had kicked up. Jean knew it, but she couldn't explain the truth, not until she'd met with Erik.

That had to wait until after they'd brought Stryker's assistant to the surface, and Jean shoved her curiosity about the meeting down.

_Ready?_ She sent, and received acknowledgments from Kitty, Peter, and Logan. Logan had chosen to remain on the surface with Ororo, but through the link would direct the others to Stryker's assistant.

"I float like a rock," was his explanation. "Jeannie can read my memories of the place and get you there as well as I could."

Peter took the lead as they descended into the lake and she focused on the beam from his headlamp as they dropped quickly. She tried flipping her fins for propulsion, but her ankle protested. So she'd have to use telekinesis.

_You've dived before._ Kitty's mental voice didn't sound as nervous as her spoken one had.

_My family are all divers,_ Peter responded. _I learned to swim before I learned to walk, I think._

Their facemasks had radios in them, but Logan had insisted on the mindlink. "Good practice for combat. Radios are good, but they can be tapped or destroyed. Mindlink's more efficient."

_Through the breach, then left._ Peter followed Logan's terse directions, led Jean and Kitty into the complex.

_Careful of debris,_ Peter warned. _Don't get your hose or tank caught on anything._

Jean estimated ten minutes had passed before they reached the chamber where Logan had left Stryker's assistant. Logan's mental voice went quiet, and Jean could sense the tumult of emotion that seeing the chamber brought back, quickly stilled.

Peter shifted into his armored form. _Stay clear._ He swam forward and found leverage enough to shove the debris from the dam's collapse off the tank where Jean could just make out the shape of the body inside it through the glass walls. She felt a flash of unease from Kitty and reached over to take the younger woman's hand. Kitty squeezed it tight for just a moment.

Just as Peter grabbed hold of the woman's body, she heard Logan's mental voice. _Shit._

_What is it?_

_Mounties. I'll handle 'em._

Then Ororo's voice in the link. _I'll make sure they stay in one piece._

Logan grumbled mentally, even as Kitty and Peter chuckled, but Jean sensed it was more because he was expected to grumble. Was he finally settling down a little?

Then Peter had the woman's body free of the tank, and lowered it gently to the floor near them. _I'll get her tank ready,_ Peter sent, and Jean swam up to float beside the woman's body. She might be full of adamantium that would keep her on the floor, but Jean wasn't.

_Ready for your anatomy lesson?_ Jean asked, hoping a little humor would keep Kitty calm while she phased the adamantium out of the woman's body.

_I always preferred physics labs to biology labs._ But Kitty swam up and together she and Jean studied the woman.

_Start with the small bits._ Jean gave Kitty a picture of the inside of a human body. _Based on where the adamantium entered her body_ -- no question on that, Logan had left the instrument stuck in her abdomen _-- it would've spread throughout her body like this._ The image shifted, and Kitty sent an acknowledgment through the link.

_Adamantium's really hard to work with_, Kitty said after she'd removed some small bits from the woman's nose and mouth area. _Worse than lead._

_That's why I said start small. She probably won't recover while that big chunk's in her stomach and esophagus._

_Jean?_ The tentative voice was Ororo's. _Do you have to let the rest of us see that?_

_The Mounties still in one piece?_ Jean asked.

_Gone_, Logan reported tersely. _You can drop 'Ro out of the link. I'll stay and let you know if she needs to be brought back in._

For long minutes, Jean simply prompted Kitty on what sections to remove next. Kitty worked slowly but steadily, focusing and concentrating. The larger the piece of adamantium, it seemed, the longer it took Kitty to remove it. But she made slow, steady progress, and Jean felt the same camaraderie she'd felt during her internship and residency, the sense of working together to save a life and heal a body. This time, though, instead of wielding a scalpel, all she had to do was keep an image in mind. Much easier.

_Oh, God._ Kitty sounded terrified. _OhGodohGodohGodohGodohGodohGod._

_What is it?_ Peter demanded.

_Hush,_ Jean ordered, surprised that Logan had come to alertness within the link but not spoken. _Kitty?_

_It's too big, I can't phase it, she's going to die for real._ The sense of Kitty's thoughts barely formed coherent words, and the panic she felt threatened to overwhelm the link.

_Kitty!_ Jean sent, at the same time Logan said, _Settle down -- panic won't help._

Kitty quieted, but Jean could still read the panic in her eyes.

_It'll be okay,_ Jean assured her. _Peter, how long do we have to decompress on the way out?_

_No decompression,_ Peter answered. _We never got below thirty-five feet. But why are we surfacing?_

_Because Kitty got a fair amount of adamantium out of her. We don't know how she heals, and she might start healing on her own. It will be faster and less painful to do surgery topside._ Scott might be the X-Men's commander, but Jean had led enough surgical teams in her career that she could order this herself. _Get us to the surface fast, then -- can you handle the deadweight?_ She felt Peter's assent and continued, _Logan, I need you and Ororo to set up a surgery._

_On it. _

Logan's terse response cut off her sending of instructions and images of what she wanted. She spared a quiet curse, shielded from the others, and then helped adjust the woman's body in Peter's grip for the ascent.

- - - - -

"Thank you for dinner, Frau Summers," Kurt said once second helpings of dessert had been offered and declined. "It was the best meal I have had in America."

Scott hid a smile as his mother protested. She'd been taken aback by Kurt's odd appearance, but recovered quickly thanks in no small part to the German's charm. She did not, though, know that Kurt very likely spoke the simple truth.

Kurt rose. "But I should go."

Scott started to rise. "You don't have to."

"I think the president would be happier if I were gone sooner rather than later, ja?" He didn't seem angry, Scott thought, more resigned and amused.

"We can call a cab," Scott's mother said, "if you're determined to go."

"It's not necessary, Frau Summers, but thank you." Kurt turned to Scott's father. "And thank you, Herr General, for your hospitality."

Summers rose and shook Kurt's hand. Scott followed suit. "You'll always be welcome in Westchester."

Kurt smiled. "And if you come to Munich, you will have the best seats at the circus."

"Looking forward to it."

With a last bow, Kurt stepped outside, and then Scott heard the implosive sound that indicated he'd teleported.

His father turned back to the table from the window where he'd watched Kurt leave. "People like him will be hell on customs and immigration."

"Like they do so well catching normal smugglers?" Scott countered.

"At least they have a chance to catch normal smugglers."

"They'll have a chance to catch mutant smugglers, too, if they accept our proposal."

"Speaking of proposals." His mother refilled his glass of iced tea. When he was a child, he'd loved the sweetness of it. Now, he couldn't refuse it, much as he'd prefer a cup of coffee. "Do you have a girlfriend? What's going on in your life, generally?"

"Her name's Jean. She's a doctor and a geneticist." He ran a thumb down the side of his glass, wiping condensation away.

"Is it serious?" Trust his mother not to be satisfied with short answers. It was actually easier to talk to his father sometimes, despite their differences.

"Five years," Scott answered. "You might have seen her on TV," he added, hoping to distract her from that line of questioning. "She testified before the Senate about the Mutant Registration Act."

His mother gave him a blank look, but his father said, "The redhead, right? In the bright red suit?"

To Scott's nod, the general said, "Tell her next time not to wear red."

Scott had to grin. "You think I didn't this time? Tactical error, I told her, red's the color of aggression, and that's not what you're going for. Besides, they're all wearing conservative business colors, and you want them to think you're one of them."

"She didn't listen?" His father looked amused.

"You don't tell Jean what to do. You sure don't tell her 'I told you so' after."

"I like her already," his mother said as his father laughed. "When do we get to meet her?"

Scott hoped his mother wouldn't take offense. "I'm not sure. We're all busy, and -- I wasn't sure you'd want to meet her."

"Why?" his mother asked.

"She's a mutant, too," his father said. "She's part of your team -- she was on that video you showed."

Scott nodded. For all that they were doing a good job acting like a normal family, they weren't, and hadn't been since his mutation manifested. The invitation to dinner had startled him. Kurt's inclusion in the invitation had almost made his jaw unhinge.

He saw the glance that flickered between his parents, and his mother said, "We'd like to meet her. Why don't you come down for Fourth of July weekend? Alex and Lorna will be here, too."

"I'll ask her about it," Scott said.

"Traffic'll be murder on a holiday weekend." His father pointed out.

"Traffic's not a problem," Scott said, feeling a grin tugging at his mouth again. "You didn't see what I arrived in, did you?"

"The car they sent? Just like a dozen others."

"That's not my ride. My ride's supersonic." The jet, anyway. The bike… he was still working on that.

"Supersonic?" His father started to grin, too.

"You don't think I drove down from Westchester in an hour, do you?" This -- this was new, this joking over a shared interest.

His mother laughed. "Boys and your toys."

His father looked up at her. "You mind?"

She shook her head. "I'll keep my feet firmly on the ground this time, thanks. Have fun."

- - - - -

Jean left her dive tank on the shore and hurried through the trees to where they'd left the Blackbird as fast as her ankle would let her. Peter already carried the body of Stryker's assistant to whatever surgery Logan and Ororo had set up, and Kitty remained behind to clean up the dive gear. She let the telepathic link with the others drop. Their thoughts were a distraction she didn't need in surgery.

Wincing with each step, Jean unzipped her wetsuit. While blood might clean off the wetsuit easier than it would cotton scrubs, the wetsuit was far too cumbersome to perform surgery in.

She could only stare when she saw what awaited her. Logan had directed Peter to place Stryker's assistant on a plastic tarp on the ground. A tool box from storage served as a surgical tray, and her surgery pack lay waiting on it. No one had opened it, thankfully. Beside it rested sterile surgical gloves still in their package. Ororo waited with scrubs, and Logan extended a claw to cut the woman's suit off.

Jean let Ororo help her put the scrubs on. "No wind, okay? The last thing she needs is for pine needles or whatever to fall inside her."

"You're going to need an assistant, aren't you?" Ororo asked. Jean didn't need to be a telepath to sense that Ororo wasn't looking forward to the job.

"I don't faint at the sight of blood. I'll assist." Logan finished cutting the woman's clothes off. Peter blushed and muttered something about helping Kitty with the dive gear before starting away from the clearing.

Logan stripped off his jacket and shirt, leaving him clad in undershirt and jeans. "Ready when you are."

Jean sat gingerly next to the woman's prone body. She hadn't been expecting to perform surgery, and certainly not on someone who could wake up at any time during it. She'd have to work fast, which wouldn't be made any easier thanks to her ankle.

"I'm going to open her up," she told Logan, "and I'll have to scrape the adamantium out of her. Most likely a thin layer of tissue as well, depending. And I'll be keeping a telepathic eye on her."

"Can't sedate her, her system will process it too fast," Logan agreed. "You can do some kind of mind-whammy, right?"

Jean chuckled as she opened the sterile gloves and pulled them on. "I can do something, yes. She doesn't need to suffer any more than she already has."

It was going to be a time-consuming procedure, Jean knew, even if it wasn't any more technically difficult than scraping plaque off a tooth. Not that she'd ever done that; she wasn't a dentist.

With a glance at Logan, she picked up the scalpel and made the incision. He moved quickly to mop the blood and spread the skin open. The mess of metal facing her surprised her.

"Would the molten adamantium have bonded to what's already on her skeleton?" Jean asked.

"How would I know?" Logan asked. "I only have the stuff in my body, I don't know how it behaves."

"If it did -- there's no chance."

"One way to find out." Logan's simple practicality steadied her, and she set to work.

Large chunks of metal came out of the abdominal cavity, and she was grateful for Logan's strength to help her pull them out quickly and efficiently.

"I could get a dozen papers out of this," she murmured as she worked. The scalpel made a dulled rasp of noise as she peeled the tissue away as delicately as she could. "If it wouldn't result in having my license pulled."

"Why would they pull your license?" Logan asked. He'd apparently picked up that talking meant things were going well in surgery.

"Lack of surgical consent, for one. But, you know, she was dead when I started the surgery -- just won't fly. Because I'm not a coroner, and therefore can't do an autopsy legally. Which is sort of what this is."

Another chunk of adamantium landed on the tarp next to her. "Too many rules," Logan observed. "You'd think saving a life would take priority."

"You'd think," Jean agreed, then frowned.

"What?"

"Well, normally I'd crack the ribcage about now." She didn't have to add that adamantium couldn't be cracked.

"This isn't normal."

"Thank you, Doctor Obvious," Jean murmured absently. There had to be some way for the ribs to expand and contract, otherwise the woman's chest couldn't expand during breathing. But how?

She set the scalpel aside, slipped her hand under the skin and around the ribs. The intercostal spaces were there, obviously. And the costal cartilage. Wait -- what was that? She probed with her fingers, letting her eyes drift closed so she could picture the rib cage more clearly.

And then she smiled.

"Find something?" Logan asked.

"Oh, yes." She touched a switch she'd found, so small as to almost be nonexistent. And the woman's rib cage opened at the sternum.

"Holy shit."

"Whoever designed this did a good job," Jean said and picked up the scalpel again to continue working. "Very efficient."

"Efficient. Right." Logan's mind shuddered, even if his voice and body didn't. Jean ignored that as she cleared the chest cavity. Not much had seeped through the tears in the intestines caused when Logan had rammed the nozzle into the woman's stomach, probably as a result of her healing ability, and Jean gave thanks for that.

She was in a rhythm now, and she worked with methodical speed through the rest of the woman's torso. When she finished, she closed the ribcage and pulled the skin of the woman's chest back together. Now, it was just a matter of waiting for her healing factor to kick in.

Well, and covering her up, Jean thought. But Logan had thought of that, too, and brought a hospital gown. Its chief advantage was that it could be put on the woman without moving more than her arms.

"See, you don't need rules." Something in Logan's tone made Jean look up from stripping off her gloves. Her gaze met his and she felt again his sharp attraction for her. And her own for him, muted though it was compared to his. "Do better winging it like me," he added.

She didn't need this, not now when fatigue dulled both body and brain. She couldn't even muster the energy for a good snap, just a weary, "How many times do I have to walk away from you?"

"Saw you kiss him --" Logan stopped, shook his head. "No. I saw him kiss you earlier. Why stay when you don't even want him to kiss you?"

"Because --" she was more tired than she thought, if she came that close to telling him it hadn't been Scott kissing her, but Mystique. She wanted, needed, the comfort of someone to be close to, and if she wasn't careful, that someone might turn out to be Logan. So she shook her head. "I'm too tired to discuss this. Let me know if she wakes up."

And she dropped her gloves and went up the ramp into the jet. It wasn't the best place, tactically, since there was only one exit. Then again, it meant that she only had one direction to watch for people approaching.

She changed out of scrubs and swimsuit into the street clothes she'd worn on the flight up and sank into the pilot's seat, unlocking it to swivel enough that she could rest her ankle on the co-pilot's seat and keep an eye out for anyone approaching. She leaned forward to unwrap her ankle. It felt surprisingly good for only two days after the injury, and she flexed it, cautiously. Still tender. She'd need to keep it wrapped a few more days.

Comfort. Some days, that meant a cup of hot chocolate and a good book. Some days, it meant a walk in the woods behind the mansion. And some days …

She picked up the radio, punched Scott's number. By this time, he should be done with whatever meetings they'd scheduled, and even a post-meeting dinner, if one should've come up.

"Summers." It was his typical brusque answer when he wasn't certain who called. And he wouldn't be, not with just the jet's code showing up on the readout. She smiled. Even better.

"If I were there with you," she said, pitching her voice to that sultry timbre he loved, "I'd start nibbling your earlobe and work my way down."


	6. Chapter 6

No pithy comments for this one, just I hope you like it. (With the reminder that this gets a bit steamy. I think it's still T-rating, but if the rating needs to be changed, let me know.)

X X X X X

Scott stayed silent on the way out to Bolling. His mother's questions about Jean had reminded him that he and Jean weren't the same as they had been a few days ago. In the heat of the presentation to the Joint Chiefs and then dinner, he'd managed to forget that. He couldn't afford to forget it.

His father's low whistle brought him back to where he was. "She's a beauty."

"Blackbird base. Major modifications." He didn't even try to keep the pride from his voice. He and Hank McCoy had done the bulk of the modifications themselves, accruing half a dozen patents in the process.

His father parked the car, and Scott grabbed his jacket and vest from the back seat. "Figured you could handle the clearances."

"Where to?"

"How about a lazy circle out toward Greenland and back?"

His father's grin was a mirror of his own. If there had ever been any question of his paternity, their shared love of flying would've settled it. While his father spoke to the staff, he deactivated the Blackbird's security system and lowered the rear entry. The flight would be fun, and yes, he'd enjoy showing off what the jet was capable of, and what he was capable of as well, but he couldn't shake the sense that the serious discussion would start once they were airborne.

The only question was, what did his father want to discuss?

"Lots of cargo room." He turned to see his father striding into the back of the Blackbird.

"Enough for the team and uniforms," Scott replied. "And there's a crash kit, but not enough room for a real surgery."

"Efficient." Summers raised an inquiring eyebrow at the two chairs.

"Yours." Scott gestured toward the co-pilot's seat. "You can take the stick after we're clear of continental airspace."

His father nodded and strapped himself in, immediately understanding that Scott preferred a familiar hand on the controls while the air traffic was heaviest.

Scott slid into the pilot's seat and within minutes had the Blackbird humming, ready for takeoff. His father watched, studied the controls, but appeared completely confident in his skill. Considering he and his father hadn't been close since his ability had manifested, Scott wondered why that confidence should sit so warm in his belly.

"Supersonic and stealth modes?"

"Hm?" Scott looked over at the readouts his father indicated. "Oh. Yes, both. Can't use them at the same time, obviously, much as we tried to make that work."

Summers gave a surprised chuckle. "No good being invisible if they hear you pass overhead."

"We're past the coastline. You want the stick?"

Summers's only response was to rest his hands on the secondary controls. Scott sat back, let his father take over.

"She's fast on the response. The other one we have, the newer one, is even better than this."

Summers nodded acknowledgment, and whatever he might have said in response was cut off when the communicator shrilled. The readout indicated it came from the other jet.

"Part of my team," he told his father. "They're up north, trying to rescue Stryker's assistant." He switched on the speaker. "Summers."

"If I were there with you," Jean's voice, low and sexy, filled the cockpit, "I'd start nibbling your earlobe and work my way down."

Scott snatched the handset from its cradle, not daring to look at his father. "Bad day, hon?"

"You have no idea… I love how the muscles in your neck twitch when I bite just right."

Scott felt his face flaming. "Um --" Okay, Jean wasn't going to be deterred. She'd apparently been called out on the rescue mission. If it hadn't been for her ankle, he'd have put her in command of it. If it had gone that badly, she'd have told him. So it had stressed her, but gone as well as could be expected.

He almost told her he'd have to call her back, that his father sat next to him. But -- Logan was on that mission, too. Would his refusal now send her away from him into Logan's arms for the comfort she needed?

He wouldn't risk that. Thankfully, his father already had the controls, so Scott slipped out of his seat and to the back of the jet. Between the engine noise reverberating inside and the distance, that should give some form of privacy. Maybe. Dear God.

"I'm glad you finally believed me and started to bite, a little." He sat on one of the benches lining the side walls beside the ramp.

"Surprised me when you bit back," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "Have I ever told you how good it feels?"

"Not nearly as good as stroking my fingers over your skin." Any other time, he'd already be hard. Now, he struggled to keep his voice low and normal. Arousal wasn't even in the equation.

"Mmm… you still wearing that three-piece suit?"

"Just the shirt and pants." He bit his lip on telling her he'd taken the jacket and vest off at his parents' house.

"I'd undo your buttons and your zipper with my telekinesis -- at the same time. You have the body of a Michelangelo, and once I had you naked, I'd explore you, all of you, with my fingernails, teeth, and tongue."

"Give me the chance to undress you, too. Are you still in scrubs from the surgery?"

"Changed out of them when we were done. Blouse and jeans."

"Silk? I know you love the way that feels when I rub it over your breasts."

"Not silk, but it feels good anyway. I kiss your sternum, and breathe in your scent. I let my fingers trace the muscles in your chest and abdomen."

How many times had she done just that in person? He tried to remember, tried to summon those memories and those feelings to mind. The thought of his father sitting just feet away gave him amnesia on par with Logan's. And why had he thought of Logan just now? He forced his mind back to what Jean was saying.

"I slide my hands under your blouse and up your back. Your skin is so soft."

"You're warm -- you always are -- and snuggling up against you is like lying in the sun on a summer day. As I snuggle, I rub my hips against yours."

"Your jeans are too snug, so I have to open them before I can run my hands beneath your waistband to cup your hips and pull you closer against me. I want to take your blouse off, but I'm otherwise occupied."

"I press closer to you, feel your cock against me. You're hard, and I love the way you feel."

No, not hard, but maybe a few steps on the road to getting there -- and while his dress pants were loose, they weren't that loose. "The way you feel drives me crazy. It always has. I press you back against the nearest wall, and drag your jeans down over your hips."

"I have to kick my shoes off to step out of them, and I brace my hands on your shoulders for balance." Her voice changed. "Are you touching yourself while we talk, Scott?"

Oh, hell -- the strangled sound he made was probably just high-pitched enough and just loud enough to carry over the engine noise.

"I want you," he said before she could ask about that sound. "You have no idea how I want you. Wrap your legs around me. Let me feel you. All of you." Distraction. He could never distract her in person, but now he could.

"I still have my shirt on." Trust her to remember that detail.

"The fabric isn't as soft as your skin, but I like the different texture. You said before that I'm warm… you're on fire." And she was, too, when they made love. He could happily immolate himself in it. In person.

"Oh, Scott." Her voice was a moan. "I trust you to hold me up. You're strong. I rake my nails up your back, and try to pull you closer."

"Any closer, and I'm inside you."

"You feel so good inside me. I hold you, tight, as tight as I can."

"I move against you. I want to go slow, but I can't." No, he couldn't, not if he expected to get out of this with his composure remotely intact. And how frustrating that he had to keep his composure now.

"Tell me how it feels, Scott. Let me hear you enjoy it." Behind her words, he heard her breath coming in short gasps. Was she touching herself in the other jet the way she'd asked him?

"It feels --" he paused, took a somewhat shaky breath. "It feels like you've wrapped me in hot silk. It feels like I could lose myself in you." He couldn't give her the noises she wanted. The hand not holding the phone gripped the edge of the seat beside him so hard he'd have indentations in his palm until morning.

"Yes. Tell me."

He couldn't -- not with his father sitting right there. But she wouldn't let him hide, she never did. There was only one thing to do.

"I'd rather feel you," he said. "Feel you as you get closer. I'll move back just enough that I can touch you where you like it, where you need it, rub my thumb just the way you want."

"Scott --" It was a protest, and he knew it, and cut it off before it formed.

"I love the way you feel when you climax around me. So tight, so … God. There are times I think if I could just feel that all the time, I'd be happy. Are you building, Jean? Are you getting closer?"

"Oh, Scott --" Still a protest, but her voice came in gasps.

"You are, aren't you?" He dropped his voice even lower. "I move harder, faster, curl my thumb up in that way you can't resist. Squirm for me, writhe against me."

"Scott --" That wasn't a protest. That was pleasure.

"Oh, yes, hon -- that feels good. Go boneless for me, relax. Let me hold you, let me touch you and bring you down."

For a few moments, he only heard her breathing. Then, "Scott -- you didn't --"

No, he hadn't. He couldn't. Not here, not now, and he sure couldn't tell her that. "I've told you before I like yours almost as much as mine."

- - - - -

Jean stared at the phone she held. She'd picked up the phone for the comfort of hearing Scott's voice. The impulse for sex talk had been one she'd indulged on the spur of the moment, hoping to loosen Scott up a little, break a few of those rules Logan had talked about.

So much for that idea.

"How'd it go?" he was asking now, almost as though the conversation they'd just had never happened.

She forced herself to match his tone. "Kitty had trouble phasing a large chunk of adamantium in the woman's abdomen. I had to open her up."

"Kitty?" His voice held that studied innocence that never failed to make her laugh. Even now.

"No, not Kitty. Took a while. Logan assisted."

"Logan assisted?" Scott sounded surprised.

"Ororo's squeamish, Kitty was half panicked, and Peter --" she let that drop. Peter's attraction to Kitty was an open secret, though she didn't think Peter realized just how open it was.

"She hasn't recovered yet?"

"No, not --"

"Dr. Grey? She's waking up." It was Peter, half in, half out of the jet. "Logan's standing by, in case she goes crazy when she does. We need you."

"Got to go," she said into the phone. "See you when we get back."

- - - - -

"Love you," Scott said into the phone, though he'd heard the click when Jean disconnected a moment before. He shut off his own phone and ran a hand through his hair.

That could've gone better. Then again, it could've gone a lot worse, too -- his mind shut down on just how much worse it could've been.

With the force of will that had enabled him to stare down the Wolverine, not to mention a double handful of students who thought they were the baddest of bad-asses, Scott straightened his shoulders and stood to make his way back to the pilot's seat.

"We make Greenland yet?" He tried to keep his voice casual.

"Turned around before that. Thought you might have something better to do than haul your old man around."

Scott gave thanks that it was dark in the cockpit now. Maybe his blush wouldn't be so obvious in the dim glare of the instrument panel. "Jean's still with the rescue team. I probably won't see her again until tomorrow sometime."

His father gave a noncommittal grunt. "You will ask her about the barbecue, right? I'm looking forward to meeting her."

"I'll mention it." Sometime when she wouldn't be inclined to give him nightmares for a week -- if he was lucky -- after finding out just what his father had overheard.


	7. Chapter 7

Logan watched Stryker's assistant, his stance more relaxed than his thoughts. He'd seen regret in her eyes just before she died, but that didn't mean he was assuming anything more than she regretted something. Which was why he stood near the woman's feet. At her head, he'd stationed Kitty, who'd blanched when he said tersely, "Be ready to squeeze her heart." But Kitty nodded, and though pale, her expression was determined.

Ororo stood off to his right. The weather today had been crisp and clear, so she'd have a hell of a time summoning a lightning bolt to stop the woman, if it came to that. Idly, he wondered what lightning would feel like when it hit all the metal in her body, and resolved never to make the weather-witch mad enough to do that to him.

Peter approached from the jet, took up a position beside Kitty. Logan hadn't ordered that, but it made sense, and he nodded once to Peter in silent approval.

Jean limped down the ramp. "You said she's waking up?"

"Heard her heartbeat start up," Logan said. "Won't be long. Stand over there by Storm."

"To mind-whammy her?" Jean asked with a hint of a smile. The wind carried her scent to him, and he reeled for a moment. Damn, she was aroused.

Logan grinned back, but it was hard to focus with the scent of arousal so strong. "Don't think you'll need to, but be ready."

Ready. Christ. He was ready, all right, ready to throw her over his shoulder and take her off into the woods. She wouldn't refuse him, not being that aroused. And for the first time, he could be certain it wasn't for Scott -- not after the revulsion he'd seen in her expression when Scott kissed her.

What had the kid done to so thoroughly piss Jean off? He'd love to know, but for now he was just grateful the kid had been that stupid. And too bad he couldn't ask Storm for an extra blast of cold to cool him down.

A low groan from Stryker's assistant sent his battle instincts to high alert and his claws itching to be popped. He wouldn't need that blast of cold air, after all. He focused on the woman, felt his teammates -- why did that concept feel familiar? -- coming to alertness as well.

She woke as carefully as he did, keeping her eyes closed and listening, taking in her surroundings. Finally, she opened her eyes and focused on him.

"Wolverine."

"You have me at the disadvantage."

One eyebrow arched, but all she said was, "My codename is Deathstrike."

Deathstrike. He knew that name, somewhere deep inside, felt it tickling his memory. "We going to fight again?"

"Not for the moment."

Logan nodded, and the rest of the X-Men relaxed as he did. Deathstrike might change her mind at any time, but for now, they could talk.

Deathstrike sat up, and looked around. Her gaze lingered on the remains of the dam. "Is it safe to assume that Colonel Stryker lost, as I did?"

"He's dead." He couldn't read the expression that flickered across her face, but when she turned back to face him, her eyes held -- grief?

"And I yet live."

None of the others heard those words, not even Kitty standing just a few feet behind her. Logan frowned, and said, "Thought you'd be glad to be free of his mind control drug."

"I am," she said. "For that, I owe you."

"Figure you'd owe us for saving your life, too," Kitty muttered.

Deathstrike ignored her, kept her gaze focused on Logan. "I will speak with you, Wolverine."

- - - - -

Logan paced the far end of the clearing. Ororo had insisted on giving Deathstrike clothing other than the hospital gown to wear, and the other woman had accepted with the bare minimum of courtesy. Once she had dressed, she and Logan were going for a walk in the woods.

Somehow, he thought, it should be romantic. Or at least pleasant. It would be neither, and where he found that certainty, he didn't know.

She bothered him. In the privacy of his own thoughts, he could admit that. He knew her, knew that she wasn't just using his name because Stryker had. They had a past, a history. Had they been lovers? Partners? Teammates? He didn't know, and not knowing that bothered him more than not remembering his given name.

She crossed the clearing toward him, regal and alone. Somehow, Logan knew she chose to give that impression. It made his heart ache, though he had no idea why.

He'd told Ororo that she was closest in size before they came on this mission, and he recognized the blouse Deathstrike now wore as one that belonged to her. So did the slacks and shoes, presumably, though he hadn't seen either of them before. Her coat, though, was one of Jean's. Though the coat hung loosely on her, it made sense, given that weather didn't bother Ororo much, Logan decided.

She didn't speak as she approached, just continued past him into the woods. It was more an invitation to join her than a dismissal, and Logan accepted it. This close, her scent drifted cleanly to him. Beneath the overlay of laundry detergent and dry cleaning chemicals, there was a metallic tang similar to his own scent. He'd caught it before, when they fought, but thought it was just his own. Now he knew better.

"Why did you get me out?" They were far enough away from the clearing that Logan couldn't hear even the faint murmur of voices anymore before she spoke.

What the hell kind of question was that? "Thought you might prefer walking around to being stuck under there forever."

She stopped and turned to face him, surprise etched in the fine features of her face. The top of her head just reached his chest. "Do you not remember?"

"No," he said.

"Oh." She appeared to process that for a moment. "Oh. That explains much."

"The way you're talking, we knew each other?"

"Yes." He didn't think she was going to continue, but then she said, "We were the colonel's top operatives."

"Everything Stryker told me is true." The knowledge sliced him deeper than her claws had.

"What did he tell you?"

Her calm question steadied him. "That I'm an animal. That I volunteered for these." He popped the claws of one hand, retracted them with a thought.

"You did volunteer. We both did. But I would not say you were an animal."

"Why'd I volunteer?"

"I don't know. We didn't share such things."

What had they shared, then? Because everything he observed told him they'd shared something. "Why'd you volunteer?"

"I'm not prepared to tell you that."

"What are you prepared to tell me?" He didn't bother to keep the edge of frustration out of his voice.

"That depends on why you pulled me out of the base. Beyond the humanitarian reason."

Logan let out a breath, wished for a cigar, but he'd left those on the Blackbird. If he went to get them, he had no doubt she'd be gone by the time he returned. "Stryker wanted to kill all the mutants on the planet," he said finally. "He came damn close to succeeding, too."

"You and your new team stopped him?"

"Yeah. And then stopped Magneto." She didn't recognize that name, so he added, "A mutant who tried to kill all the humans instead."

"And?"

"And we're reporting what happened to the government. Thought you might have information to share."

A few more steps passed with only the snow crunching beneath their feet. Finally, "I cannot help you with that. Colonel Stryker was my commander, and I will not betray him."

"Even after he drugged you, ordered you to fight me, and as a result is responsible for your death?"

"I am samurai. Loyalty does not end at the commander's death." Her voice was thick with some held-back emotion. But she kept control. "What now?"

Logan exhaled. Scott wouldn't be happy about this. "Depends. You want a ride back to civilization?"

"I can find my way."

"Then we say goodbye and go our separate ways."

She bowed to him, and said something in what he knew was Japanese, though he didn't understand it.

"Before you go --"

She straightened. "Yes?"

"You have a name besides Deathstrike?"

"Yuriko."

"Logan."

"Sayonara, Logan-san."

Scott was definitely not going to be happy about this, Logan thought as he watched Yuriko walk away from the sunrise.

- - - - -

The empty space in the bed beside him brought Scott to full alertness. Jean was the only person who'd ever been able to come into his bedroom without waking him. He suspected she did something telepathically to keep him asleep, but could never prove it. So he wasn't surprised that he hadn't woken once he'd finally gotten to sleep just before midnight. That she wasn't here this morning, though --

He pushed the worry down. She had a strong team with her, and she herself was no pushover. He doubted there was any way Stryker's assistant could have taken the entire team down. He reached over to the nightstand, picked up his glasses and put them on. Only then did he open his eyes to see that dawn barely peeked into his window.

It felt odd to just get out of bed and dress for his morning workout without Jean. She wasn't quite the morning person he was, but her presence alone gave a good start to each day. Without that presence next to him in bed, keeping pace with him on the morning run, he felt incomplete.

This morning, his only company on the run was Bobby Drake, who was definitely not a morning person. Bobby barely grumbled a hello before starting into the woods behind the mansion. Scott frowned. Marie should be with them, too. Then again, she might not have gotten the word that she was now expected to join them. He'd have to make sure she did.

The one good thing about Bobby not being a morning person was that he didn't want to hang around and talk once the run was done. His "See ya later" was more civil than his greeting, and Scott counted that as a success.

A shower in the locker room was followed by a breakfast of a protein bar and a glass of orange juice. He could just see the look Jean would give him if she'd seen it, and smiled at the thought of the mental lecture that would go with it.

But he wouldn't get that lecture this morning, not until Jean got back with the rest of the team, anyway. He rinsed his glass and started for the garage. Logan might or might not have gassed up his motorcycle, but he wasn't going to trust that the motorcycle was still in operable condition -- at least, not as he defined operable. It had been due for a tune-up before Logan borrowed it, and at the moment, there were no crises looming that required the X-Men's intervention, nor did he have any classes to teach today, so he had the time to do the job right.

The motorcycle sat in its accustomed spot, and Scott took a moment to enjoy looking at the Harley-Davidson VRSCA, remembering the hours he'd spent customizing it. That was more pleasant than looking at the empty space next to it where his Mazda should've been. He understood that Logan had had to take it to get Bobby, Marie, and John safely away from Stryker's attack, but that didn't mean he had to like losing the car.

While he gathered spark plugs, filters, and tools, he considered calling the Boston Police Department to ask about it -- and then realized they'd likely be calling him in the next day or so. Just another day in the life of an X-Man, he thought with wry amusement as he knelt beside his motorcycle and set to work.

He'd just removed the old spark plugs when he heard the low hum of Charles's wheelchair. "Those were bold suggestions you made yesterday."

Scott put the old spark plugs aside, removed the new ones from the box. "They weren't suggestions."

"The team was never meant to be a combat team," Charles said. He brought the wheelchair to a stop on the opposite side of the motorcycle from Scott. "It was meant to rescue mutant children."

He picked up the gapping tool. He didn't need the specifications to properly gap the new spark plugs. "And we still will. But we need to be prepared for the rest of it, too."

"The rest of it? You mean people like Stryker who want to twist mutants to their own ends?"

"People like that, yes, and people like Magneto."

He felt Charles's frown more than he saw it. "Erik?"

"You've had a gentleman's disagreement with Magneto for years, Professor," Scott said. "But he's proved he's no gentleman."

He felt the whisper-touch that meant Charles was reading his mind. Only someone as familiar with telepaths as he was would've noticed. "He doesn't want war."

"Yes, he does." Scott sat back on his heels, looked steadily at his mentor and sometime surrogate father. "Or he wants all non-mutants dead. I suppose strictly speaking that's not war, but the end result would be even worse. Which means we have two choices. Stand up and oppose him, proving to everyone else out there that not all mutants are evil, or stand aside and let him do what he wants."

"Surely there's another way," Charles said. "We can talk to him, reason with him --"

Scott snorted. He couldn't help it. "No, not anymore. If ever. For someone who lived through an attempted eradication of his people, you'd think he'd be reluctant to do that to anyone else. But he tried, Professor -- at Alkali Lake. Even his plan at Liberty Island was to get rid of all non-mutants. You can't reason with someone like that."

Charles fell silent and Scott installed the new spark plugs, then greased the plug wires. Now to change the oil and fuel filters.

"You can't draft the children."

"They're not children." Scott fought to keep his voice controlled. "Any more than I was when I came here. Young, yes, and maybe inexperienced. But we all learned responsibility real fast when our powers manifested."

"You all learned how to control your gifts, rather than let them control you. That's not the same as sending them into a war zone."

"The war zone came to us, in case you hadn't noticed. The ground floor is mostly cleaned up, but we still have boarded up windows and skylights."

"I'm asking you to consider this course of action very carefully."

"I have, Charles." He deliberately used the given name instead of the title. Charles barely blinked, but Scott knew the name had surprised him. "You told me once that Magneto saw his parents burned in the concentration camps. He's become the same as those who did that. It's taking Stockholm Syndrome to new extremes."

Charles's voice sounded stiff. "Erik Lensherr is a good man --"

"Maybe he was," Scott conceded. "Magneto is not. And Magneto's the one we have to worry about. I don't like the idea of taking the students into combat this young," he continued, "but you gave me command of the team, and this is what we need to do. I won't be one of those good men who does nothing and allows evil to triumph. So the team follows this path, or I walk away. There's no other choice."

That shocked Charles, as he'd intended it to. While the older man absorbed his statement, Scott changed the fuel filter in the motorcycle, then moved on to the oil filter. He knew his face didn't show any of his turmoil, his doubts about whether Jean would come with him, his own lack of being on his own since his powers manifested. But with Charles, just keeping a poker face wasn't enough -- he had to keep a poker mind, as well. Even with Jean's coaching, he suspected some of his doubts and concerns bled through.

But if those bled through, then so did his resolve. No matter how many doubts or concerns he had, he would walk away from the school, the team, all of it, if he had to.

"You truly believe there is no other choice?" Charles asked.

He looked up from gathering trash, met Charles's eyes though the other man couldn't see his. "Magneto first tried to mutate regular humans. When he found out that process killed them, he continued anyway. Then he tried to kill all non-mutants on the planet. Who knows what he'll do next? No, there's no other choice."

His quiet words carried a finality that etched lines of sorrow in Charles's face. "I don't like this."

"Neither do I."

Scott wouldn't have noticed his mentor's sigh if the other man's shoulders hadn't slumped ever so slightly. "But it is necessary."

"Magneto made it necessary."

Charles nodded, though his eyes were shadowed with grief, and Scott sought words that might offer some comfort. There were none.

"I'm sorry," was all he said.

Wordlessly, Charles turned his chair and rolled away.


	8. Chapter 8

This chapter -- the return of Scott's aftershave!

(Sorry, I've wanted to use that line for a very long time.)

They're still not mine, but I'd like to think they wouldn't object to what I've done with them.

X X X X X

The team looked tired, Scott thought, as he watched Jean, Ororo, Kitty, Peter, and Logan descend the ramp to the Blackbird. Except Logan, he corrected himself. Apparently his healing factor helped with general fatigue as well.

He didn't normally meet members of the team when they went out without him, but he had to talk to Jean. He pulled her into a hug, and she sent the briefest mental contact. _We'll talk later, okay?_

Exhaustion dulled even her mental voice, so he sent back an assent and, with a kiss to her temple, said out loud, "We'll have a quick debriefing after lunch. Go take a nap."

"There's an order I never expected anyone to give." Logan had lingered after the rest of the team left the hangar.

"If I believed it would be in the best interests of the team or would help achieve a goal, I'd order everyone to go play tiddlywinks." There were moments, Scott thought, when he could almost like the other man. Trust and respect, though -- those were harder for him to find when it came to Logan.

"I'd do it." Scott knew he let his surprise show too much, because Logan grinned. "Probably grouse that you chose tiddlywinks over darts, but I'd do it."

And somewhere inside, part of him unclenched. He couldn't bring himself to thank Logan for it, but he did nod an acknowledgment before turning toward the Danger Room.

"You're a good commander." Logan fell into step with him. "And from what I've seen, a brilliant tactician."

"What do you want, Mystique?" He couldn't help the wariness that crept into his voice.

"You really are a dick."

"Takes one to know one." If he'd had any real belief that Mystique walked beside him, not Logan, that comment would've banished it. Scott keyed in the combination to the Danger Room and pulled the remote unit from his pocket.

Logan eyed the room with its grid lines covering every surface. "A room like the inside of a basketball and now one like the world's largest Go board. Got life-size chess pieces somewhere, too?"

"Come inside and see." Scott stepped over the threshold, switched on the controller. "You haven't seen the Danger Room, have you?"

"Jeannie told me about it. Doesn't look like much."

Scott waited until the door closed and tapped in a command on the controller. The grid lines faded, replaced by an open meadow. Sun shone through a few breaks in an otherwise overcast sky, and a breeze ruffled his hair.

"I take it back."

Scott chuckled. "It started as a simple place to help the kids learn to use their powers. Then I realized it had more potential than that."

"Training facility."

"Exactly. We can program any scenario we want into the room. Tactical drills, hostage situations, even all out war, if it comes to that." He flicked another control, and the room shifted to the interior of Liberty Island.

"Figures you'd think of that -- tactical genius and all. Why Liberty Island?"

"Helps us analyze where we went wrong, what we can do better next time." That there would be a next time was a given.

"A wise general prepares for the ground," Logan agreed. "A wise general also knows when to surrender the field."

There was something behind that statement, Scott knew. He deliberately adjusted the controller, changing the display to more accurately reflect the security station Logan had clawed, before he looked at Logan. "Any particular field you had in mind?"

Logan paced over to the metal detector, stepped through it. "Doesn't work," he said when the alarm didn't go off.

"I've got the sound off."

Logan popped his claws and glanced at Scott, as though asking permission. Scott nodded, and Logan rammed the claw into the metal frame. Just as the real one had, this one set off sparks and a bit of smoke. Logan withdrew his claws and surveyed the damage. "Realistic."

"The only thing that's not real is that you can't die." He recognized the tactic, wouldn't give Logan the satisfaction of repeating his question.

"Would be hell on morale if you could."

"Not to mention we'd have to spend most of our time recruiting. Would be hell on the team's integrity and ability to function as a unit."

"Don't want that." It could have been flippant, but it wasn't. Even though Logan had said he was with the team during the debriefing the day before, Scott still wasn't sure he'd believed it. Now, though, Logan's simple declaration went a long way to convincing him. "Not just turnover that can threaten the team's integrity, though."

Scott reset the Danger Room so that the metal detector was once again whole and played a hunch. "You think I'm jealous -- jealous enough to cause problems with the team."

Logan's hesitation confirmed his hunch. Scott gave a mental sigh. And this was why he had trouble trusting and respecting the Wolverine.

"You can rest easy on that score. I'm not jealous."

"No?" Logan clearly didn't believe him.

"No. Not angry, either. If I were angry, you'd know it." He adjusted his glasses fractionally.

"What are you, then?"

"Disappointed."

"In Jeannie?"

It was so like Logan to assume that, Scott thought, but no, he wasn't disappointed in Jean at all. He was disappointed that a man the professor believed had value to the team -- that Scott knew had value to the team -- could try to break up a solid relationship. Disappointed that because Logan had intruded, Scott couldn't trust him. Disappointed that he hadn't found someone who could be his second in command.

But before he could find words to explain that to Logan, his cell phone rang.

"You get signal here?" Logan seemed surprised.

"Normally not when the room's active. This is just a debugging, though." He flipped the phone open. "Summers."

"Mr. Summers," the voice of Carolyn, the school's receptionist, was hesitant in ways he normally didn't hear, "there are some people here to see you -- police officers."

"Police?" Scott saw Logan's eyebrows shoot up in inquiry, shrugged in response. "Did they say what it's about?"

"Just that they want to see you."

"Okay." He thought quickly. "Put them in the east conference room." It was the furthest from the elevator to the lower levels, so they wouldn't see when he came upstairs.

"Trouble?" Logan asked after he snapped the phone shut.

He deactivated the Danger Room and was only mildly surprised that Logan walked with him toward the elevator. "It probably has something to do with what happened at the Drakes' house."

They emerged onto the ground floor, and Logan still walked with him. Scott wished he could relax and accept the support the other man offered.

Scott stopped. "There wasn't blood in that conference room, was there?"

"I don't think so."

"We'll find out." And no doubt they'd ask about the boarded up windows and other signs of the fight. He'd wanted to take the team a bit more public, just not like this.

He pushed the conference room door open, and with a glance took in the man and the woman seated at the table. They weren't in uniform, so that meant detectives.

"Mr. Summers?" Both stood, but it was the man who spoke.

"Yes."

"I'm Detective Carlton, NYPD." The man flashed his badge. "My colleague from Boston, Detective Foster."

The woman, Detective Foster, handed over her identification to Scott. He examined it, memorized the number, and returned it.

"How can we help you, detectives?" Scott took a seat facing both of them. Logan remained standing, leaning against the wall a short distance from the table. Scott realized he'd chosen that position to cover both of the detectives as well as to spread out the potential target area.

Carlton gestured to Foster, as though to say, "It's all yours." Foster took a microcassette recorder from her briefcase and switched it on before speaking. "I'm Detective Foster with Boston PD, interviewing Scott Summers. Mr. Summers, do you understand that you are being questioned as a witness, you are not under arrest, and you are being recorded?"

"I understand," Scott answered.

Foster ran through a battery of standard questions -- his name, occupation, age, and the like -- before getting to the core of the interview. "Are you the owner of a Mazda RX-7, cobalt blue in color --"

Scott rattled off the license plate and vehicle identification number without thinking. He heard Logan stifle a chuckle with a snort.

Foster looked at him, then at her notes. "That's correct. Where is the vehicle now?"

"I don't know. The last time anyone saw it, it was in front of the residence of William and Madeleine Drake in Boston."

"How did it get there?" Foster asked.

"I drove it."

Foster looked up at Logan. "Who are you?"

"Name's Logan."

When Logan didn't seem to be any more forthcoming, Scott said, "He's a recent addition to our staff."

"The car shows evidence of being stolen," Foster said. "The ignition has been forced."

"I was in a hurry," Logan said. "Didn't have time to look for the spare keys."

"Why were you in such a hurry?"

Logan didn't answer immediately, so Scott said, "He was getting three students, including Bobby Drake, to safety."

"Safety? What happened?"

"We were attacked. Invaded, really," Scott said. "You may have noticed the boarded up windows, scuffs in the paneling, maybe even a few bloodstains."

Foster and Carlton exchanged a look that clearly said they thought Scott was on the questionable side of sane. "Who'd invade a school?" Foster asked.

"That's a long story, beginning with the fact that many of our students are mutants." Scott watched their reactions. Carlton seemed surprised and then uncomfortable. Foster just nodded. "The short version is, the school was attacked, Logan was the only teacher in residence. He defended against the attack while the students got to safety, and then he and the last three students escaped in my car. If he had to hot wire the car to do it, that's fine with me. The students' lives are more important."

"Why'd you go to Boston?" Foster asked Logan.

"Bobby's family was there, and two of our teachers had gone there earlier."

"Why were the teachers in Boston?"

Logan shrugged. "No idea. Talking to a potential student, maybe."

"We had a 911 call from Ronny Drake. He said there were people in the house who wouldn't leave. Did he mean you?" Foster asked.

"Don't know why he would've," Logan said. "We were talking to Mr. and Mrs. Drake, that's all. Nobody asked us to leave, or we would've. And the cops on scene were trigger-happy."

"The reports indicate you had weapons. Specifically, several knives."

"Not exactly knives." Logan glanced at him, and Scott nodded, barely. Logan popped the claws from both hands. "More like claws."

"Easy," Scott said. The two detectives had jumped, but not gone for weapons.

"I over-reacted," Logan said, retracting the claws. "We'd just been attacked, had to run for our lives, from someone apparently in authority. And now, suddenly, there was another threat from someone in authority. But we didn't attack first. I raised my arm, and some trigger-happy cop shot me." He glared at the two skeptical detectives. "I got better."

"It's his mutation," Scott said. "He heals."

"After you were shot," Foster sounded shaken but determined, "one of the students, identified as St. John Allerdyce, started throwing fireballs at the officers on scene. How do you explain that?"

"I can't," Logan said. "I was unconscious."

"Let me make something clear, Detective Foster," Scott said. "No one at this school authorized or condoned John's actions that day. And if we knew where he was, we'd turn him over to you to be arrested and charged."

"You're not going to try to say he's just misunderstood?" Carlton's sarcasm couldn't be missed.

"No, I'm not. He was under severe emotional stress, but that doesn't excuse criminal behavior. If we see him, we'll let you know, and detain him if possible."

"Don't put yourselves at risk. Let us arrest him." Foster said.

"Because you did such a good job stopping him before."

"Logan." Scott shook his head minutely. Then, to the detectives he said, "He does have a point. Mutants are uniquely equipped to handle other mutants. We learn to live with our powers, and how to use them, and their limits. We'll notify you if we see him, and take reasonable steps to detain him."

Neither Carlton nor Foster looked happy with that statement, but they remained quiet.

"Now, about my car..." Scott prompted.

"We impounded it," Foster said, and dug a card from her notebook. "Here's where you can reclaim it."

Scott took the card. "Any more questions?"

"Just one," Carlton said. "Why didn't you report the break-in?"

"I did," Scott said.

"We have no record of any such report."

"I met with the Joint Chiefs about it yesterday." Okay, it was a cheap shot, he thought, but at least he hadn't mentioned the president. "The man behind the invasion was a rogue colonel. There's more to the story that I'm not at liberty to discuss."

Carlton glared at him. "I'll just bet there is."

"You can contact Admiral Nussbaum, the chairman, to confirm that I met with them yesterday, if you want." His casual nonchalance seemed to confound the detectives. "Is that all?"

They looked like they wanted to ask more questions, he thought, but Foster simply switched off the tape recorder. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Summers."

Once the detectives had gone, Logan said, "It would've been easier if you'd had Chuck mind-whammy them."

Scott wished he knew whether Logan was joking. "Easier, maybe. But we'll probably have to work with them, or their colleagues, in the future. We've got enough enemies already. We don't need to make more."

Logan turned away, then paused, sniffed. "That's better, thanks."

"Huh?"

"The aftershave. Better."

Scott watched Logan walk away, decided that he really didn't want to know why Logan was sniffing at his aftershave, and then headed toward his own office.


	9. Chapter 9

The staff at the Metropolitan Museum of Art started clearing the galleries at 8:45. Jean took a last lingering look at the Japanese Zen paintings that had caught her eye, then made her way toward the main entrance.

The simple black line paintings were a stark contrast to what she normally thought of as paintings, and she would've thought they wouldn't appeal. But Kogan's _Laughing Hotel_ especially had her staring at it, entranced, for nearly an hour. The image of a laughing man inside what looked like a smothering cave reminded her of that part of her that had been trapped, smothered, behind the blocks Charles had erected in her mind. Only she hadn't found a way to laugh within her confinement.

She turned into Central Park at the 72nd Street entrance and followed the road west, opening up her psychic sense as she did. At this time of night, the park was mostly empty, so she wasn't deluged with the thoughts and feelings of others. She felt a pair of lovers strolling somewhere off to her left, another pair doing more than strolling in the Strawberry Fields, and the clear focused non-thoughts of a jogger approaching from a side path.

She paused to let the jogger turn onto the path ahead of her, used the moment to intensify her scan of the immediate area. Erik's thoughts weren't as familiar to her as the professor's, let alone Scott's, but he had spent several years at the school in its early days, and she remembered the tang of his thoughts well.

No surprise that Erik would have strong shields of his own, even without his psi-blocking helmet -- he'd been friends with Charles long enough to learn a few tricks -- but she found him, sitting on the south edge of Bethesda Fountain and directed her steps toward him. The winged statue atop the fountain seemed to beckon her forward.

He sat on the edge of the fountain, his expression sober as he watched the activity around him. He must have sensed her approach, somehow, and he looked up to meet her gaze with a smile.

"Hello, my dear, how good to see you again." Then he frowned. "You're limping? Why?"

"A result of the fight with Scott before I managed to free him from Stryker's control." Erik had tried to turn all world leaders into mutants at Liberty Island and then at Alkali Lake had tried to kill all non-mutants. What happened to the teacher she had once respected?

"I am sorry to hear that. But you will recover? And Cyclops?"

"It's just a sprained ankle," she said. "And Scott's fine. Why do you care?"

He looked both disappointed and insulted at the same time, and Jean remembered that look from when she'd first come to the school, how she'd felt when he used it on her after some failed exam or, more often, when her powers didn't work the way they'd expected.

"Whatever you may think," he said, "I don't hate any of you. You were my students, too, you and he, remember?"

"I remember." And she did. Where the professor had been serious and sober at teaching her to use her powers, Erik had suggested she simply enjoy using them when she could.

"Please, sit, elevate that ankle," he said now. "I want only to talk this evening. Surely we can do that."

"You're an escaped felon. I probably should report you." She sighed. "But I won't. I'd already decided not to when I decided to come tonight."

"Thank you, my dear. I trust you won't regret it." He made sure she'd elevated her ankle before continuing. "I saw at Alkali Lake that your powers have matured."

"They did." She couldn't keep the wonder from her voice. "I'd forgotten what it felt like, the blocks were there so long."

"Ah, then you appreciate my little gift."

"Gift?" Jean knew she stared at him, but couldn't help it. "You haven't given me a gift since you left the school."

"I am responsible for that." He held up a hand to forestall the protest already forming on her lips. "It's why I sent Mystique to sabotage Cerebro. With Charles disabled, you'd have no choice but to use the machine yourself, no matter the risk. That brought down the first block in your mind, did it not?"

"It did," she said reluctantly. He was right, but she didn't have to like admitting it. She certainly didn't like that having blocks in her mind lowered had almost killed Charles. Then she wondered, did Erik even know Charles had nearly died then?

"And after that, they fell like dominoes." He looked almost unbearably pleased with himself. "You see I am not a monster --" He paused, his expression assessing. "You need a name."

She almost corrected him, told him she had a perfectly good name, Jean Grey, but then she remembered that he thought mutants chose their own names, not the ones their human families gave them.

Still, she almost told him she had no need of another name, but with Scott taking the X-Men on a more public path, and one where they'd likely work with military and local authorities, code names would be essential if they were to retain any semblance of privacy. She'd have to choose one sooner or later, and now was as good a time as any. But what?

The image of Kogan's painting came back to her, and the feeling of being smothered thanks to the blocks Charles had put on her powers. Since those had dropped, she felt almost reborn. And she had it.

"Phoenix," she said.

"A great pleasure to meet you, Phoenix." Erik looked pleased again, almost as though she'd earned his blessing. She couldn't quite suppress a shiver. That was one blessing she didn't need. "I only want to help you and others learn to use and control your powers. So I helped you access your powers, and I'm prepared to help Cyclops control his."

She'd been prepared to accuse him of nearly killing Charles, but his last comment changed her mind. "Scott? You think there's a way he can control his power?"

"I do." He sounded supremely confident, and Jean wanted to believe him. But she couldn't.

"The professor's tried so many times, and God knows Scott has tried -- why should I believe you have something that will work when they couldn't find anything?"

"The professor didn't help you remove those blocks, did he?"

The question stung. "He said it's best to learn naturally, that the blocks would fall when I was ready to use the power."

"Phoenix." His expression was kindly, and for a moment she could almost forget that he had attempted genocide. "It's been twenty years since we met. Do you honestly believe that you made no progress in that time?"

"Just how do you think you can help Scott?" She'd have to consider the implications of his last question.

"You're familiar with the research Worthington Labs is doing into mutant genetics." It wasn't really a question.

"A couple of years ago, they published research indicating that they might be on the road to finding a --" she hesitated --"not a cure, but a palliative that would help with uncontrollable power outbursts. Unfortunately, that work didn't go anywhere. It was a dead end."

"Didn't you think that a little too convenient?"

She shrugged. "Dead ends happen in scientific research all the time. I never said anything to Scott about it."

"It didn't lead nowhere, Phoenix." He seemed to relish using her new name. "It led somewhere, somewhere very exciting. Which is why I'm talking to you, not Cyclops."

"Go on." She tried to keep her voice low and controlled, but inside she burned with excitement. Scott had been trying to learn to control his power since it had manifested, and if Erik had something that might help, she had to listen.

"These are their research notes." Erik extended a thumb drive to her. "Everything they published, and everything they chose not to publish."

"Why not give it to Scott directly?" She clutched the thumb drive in her fist as though it were the most precious thing in the world. For Scott, it might be.

"As gifted as he is as an engineer, he's not going to understand the genetic and biological processes involved. You will." And then he smiled. "Besides, your young man can be a trifle hot-headed at times."

Jean nodded; his explanation made sense. "And what do we owe you for this?"

Again that look of insulted disappointment. "Nothing, my dear. Why would you think you owed me?"

She stretched out her psychic sense. He seemed genuinely disappointed. She smiled, slightly. "I've been dealing with senators and congressmen too long, obviously. In that world, everybody expects to be owed."

Erik chuckled. "You need to spend time with a better class of mutant."

Jean tucked the thumb drive into her purse. "Thank you. I'll look into this, see whether it holds as much promise as you think."

"You'll need one other thing."

"What's that?"

He gestured to the small ice chest by his feet. "That. It's a sample of the serum."

"I'll be careful with it."

"I hope you can replicate their work," Erik said. "And make it available for those who need it -- like Cyclops."

"And Marie," Jean murmured. As much a blessing as control would be for Scott, it would be tenfold for Marie. She couldn't tell them about it, not until she was certain it would work. She couldn't raise their hopes just to fail.

"Good luck, my dear Phoenix." Erik stood and turned to walk away.

"Erik."

He paused.

"Thank you."

He nodded and continued without turning back.

- - - - -

"Mr. Summers?"

Scott looked up from the budgetary figures he'd been reviewing. He loved commanding the team, enjoyed teaching the few classes he taught, but he'd never do more than tolerate the bookkeeping end of things. It wasn't the right kind of math to interest him. "Come in, Peter. Have a seat. Thanks for coming by so quickly." It had been less than ten minutes since he'd sent the message asking Peter to see him.

"Is there a problem?" Peter asked, and Scott translated the question to mean, "Did I screw up? How?"

"No problem," Scott assured him. "I wanted to thank you for what you did during the attack on the school. You saved a lot of the students."

Peter shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, but the slight tinge to his cheeks betrayed his pleasure at the compliment. "It was necessary."

"You'd be surprised how many people won't step up to do what they know is necessary," Scott said. Before Peter could object again, he continued, "There are going to be changes to the X-Men over the next few months. I'd like you to be part of those changes, if you're interested."

"What part?"

"Commander of the younger team." Scott watched surprise and then pleasure cross Peter's face.

"I thought -- Bobby --"

"Bobby didn't step up when he should have," Scott said. "That doesn't mean he's not X-Men material, but it does mean that he shouldn't have command yet."

Peter sat quietly considering that statement. "He can be hot-headed."

"He needs tempering," Scott agreed. "The first cut of --" he broke off and chuckled. "I haven't thought about what to call you. Junior X-Men?" He meant it as a joke, was pleased when Peter grinned in return.

"X-Men Light? X-brats?"

"X-Men in training. Trainees?" He switched from joking to serious, just to watch Peter's reaction.

"That's fair. It's accurate, after all." Good. Peter could joke and get down to business when needed.

"You, Bobby, Kitty and Marie."

"Marie will need intensive hand to hand combat training," Peter said. "She has to get close to use her power, and while she can borrow one of ours, she'd leave the one she borrowed from weak. Not the best tactical situation."

"You've already thought about this."

Another tinge of embarrassment. "Yes."

"Planning to be a team leader?"

"Not the whole team," Peter said. "Maybe a strike team."

Scott grinned. "You're not ready for the whole team yet."

Peter remained serious. "I know. I want to be."

"Set up a hand-to-hand training program for you and Marie."

"Why me?"

"Two reasons. First, she needs a regular sparring partner, and you're big enough that if she can take you down, she can take down most anyone we're likely to fight, too. The other reason is that you can't rely on strength alone if we're fighting against other mutants. Training against her will bring out all the problems you'll have against an opponent smaller than you are."

"When are you going to tell her and the others?"

"That's your job. You're their leader, after all."

Peter swallowed, but nodded. "Schoolwork comes first?"

"Absolutely. I want your team to observe at least one Danger Room session each week through the end of the term. Over the break, you'll start participating in those sessions, starting at once a week, and moving up to four days a week by the end of the break. We'll work around college schedules and so on," Scott concluded, "but we can't afford to be short-handed any longer."

"Can I set up Danger Room sessions for us, too?"

"Don't overload anyone's schedule," Scott warned him. "Otherwise, yes."

"And if the others don't want to be X-Men?" Peter hesitated asking the question, and Scott regarded him gravely.

"We won't force anyone," Scott said. Peter's nod said he both understood and agreed. "But you four deserve the chance, if you want it. No shame or blame if you don't."

"I want it." The young man's voice was firm with conviction.

"Glad to have you." Scott stood and offered his hand. Peter rose and took it.

"Is this a male bonding moment?" Ororo's softly accented voice made both men look to the door of Scott's office. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Scott laughed, released Peter's hand. "No interruption, 'Ro. I just ruined Peter's day. I gave him command of the secondary team's training."

"Do you need me for anything else?" Peter asked, and when Scott shook his head no, Peter said, "See you in the morning for the run." With a nod to Scott and Ororo in turn, Peter left.

"Did you forget to eat again?" Ororo asked once Peter had gone.

"Course not."

"What did you have for dinner tonight?"

"Um --" Scott thought for a moment, then grimaced. "I did."

"Then lock your office and we can raid the kitchen together." She watched while Scott locked his office. "Is Jean working late again?"

"I'm not sure where she is," Scott said, and that answer bothered him. He still needed to talk to her about the phone call of the night before. "She said something about going into the city for a consultation, and left."

Ororo linked her arm through his. "Strange time for a consultation, but it gives us a chance to talk."

"About what?"

"My giving up being second in command."

"I know how you feel, Ro, but it won't happen immediately."

"You don't know how I feel," she countered. "But even allowing that you think you might, for the first time, you have someone else who can do the job. And probably better than I can."

Scott tucked her just a little closer. "I don't doubt he can do the job. The question is, can I trust him to?"

"Just because he's interested in Jean?"

"Why does everyone assume my problems with him are all because he thinks Jean's attractive?"

They'd reached the kitchen, and Scott crossed to the pantry, opened the door. Rows of restaurant-sized cans and jars were neatly arrayed on the shelves, and he switched on the light so he could look for the few smaller items normally stocked.

"Because he hasn't tried to hide that. He even --" she broke off, and Scott heard the refrigerator open.

How many times had they done just this, made a meal together after a mission? He'd lost count, and felt some shame that he'd made more meals with Ororo than he had with Jean.

"Kissed her?" Scott finished. Ororo didn't respond, and he continued, "She told me about it." He'd had to pry it out of her, but she had.

He gathered a can of crushed tomatoes, a small jar of olive tapenade, and a box of pasta, and turned toward the center island, pushing the pantry door closed with his foot. Ororo had already piled lettuce, tomato, and cucumber on the island.

Scott pulled a pot from the overhead rack, ran it full of water and set it on the stove to heat.

"Yes," Ororo said finally. "He kissed her. She walked away, but he did. Aren't you angry about that?"

"No. I'm not." He pulled a butcher knife from the block and offered it to Ororo. "I can't fault his taste in women, after all."

"But --" Ororo paused, obviously unsure how to continue.

Scott poured the crushed tomatoes into a pan, turned the heat on. "You and Jean are both beautiful," he said. "Any man who doesn't notice that isn't one I want on my team, because he's either blind or too stupid for words."

Ororo laughed, but Scott heard the edge in it.

"Ro, listen to me." He faced her directly. "I'm not jealous of Logan, and I'm not angry with him."

She wanted to believe him, he could tell. "Angry with Jean, then?"

"Not with her, either." And he wasn't. He was hurt, but not angry. But he didn't want to discuss that with Ororo. "But think about it." He turned back to the stove, added some tapenade to the tomatoes. "Logan's been here a grand total of ten days, and there was a pretty long break in the middle of those days. None of us know him, and he's shown a tendency to go off on his own. How am I supposed to trust him enough to put him in your position?"

"Are you even open to trying to trust him?"

"I am. I'll say right now that he's got an uphill battle, but I'm open."

For long minutes, they worked in comfortable silence, Scott stirring the sauce and watching to be sure the pasta didn't boil over, Ororo setting two places at the island.

"You know I won't quit being part of the team," Ororo said finally, after Scott had drained the pasta.

"I know." He smiled at her and handed her the bowl of pasta.

"But I won't stay your second forever."

"I know that, too." Scott dumped the sauce into a bowl and brought it over to the island, sat next to Ororo. "But you can't expect me to trust him -- anyone -- immediately."

"Promise me you'll try."

"I promise." And he would. If Logan gave him the chance.


	10. Chapter 10

Jean had just stepped out of the shower when Scott opened the door to their room and stepped inside.

"Don't get too used to sleeping in," he said, and though his tone was light, Jean knew he meant it. He took his responsibilities as the X-Men's leader so seriously, it often got in the way of his having fun. Sometimes she missed the young man who'd first gotten his glasses. At least he could relax once in a while.

She kissed him briefly, wrinkled her nose. "I don't understand why some women find sweat sexy. To me, it just stinks."

"Unless you're sweaty, too," Scott countered. "Then it's seriously hot." Jean wished her heart could be in the teasing, but it wasn't. She'd hoped that she'd find that young man again, but so far she'd had no luck. He peeled off the T-shirt and shorts he'd worn for the morning run. "You busy today?"

She thought of the sample and research notes Erik had given her last night. "Nothing that can't wait."

"Want to drive to Boston with me?"

"Boston?" Then she remembered. "To pick up your car."

He nodded. "We can have lunch before we come back. Just us."

She considered. The round trip would take somewhere around eight hours -- slightly less for him, slightly more for her, given how he tweaked any engines in his general vicinity and regarded speed limits as a general guideline for the worst possible weather conditions. It would be a good time to tell him about the control serum -- she'd realized while in the shower that she couldn't keep something so important from him. The only trick was going to be finding a place to talk where they couldn't be overheard. In the car on the way to Boston fit the bill nicely.

"Sounds good," she said. "I'll let the staff know, and we can leave as soon as you're done in the shower."

- - - - -

Magneto watched the gold Toyota leave the mansion grounds at Graymalkin Lane and turned to the woman next to him. "Are you sure about her, Callisto?"

"Positive," the dark-haired woman replied. "Her power's stable, and maxed."

"Such a pity. She was so promising when she was young." Magneto allowed himself a moment of regret. He'd hoped Jean would mature into someone powerful enough to stand beside him as his queen. Alas, he'd have to keep looking.

"You sure about him?" The woman asked.

"As sure as you are that his power's stuck in both condition and level."

"Huh." Callisto looked at the road where the car had disappeared as though she could still see it. "Seems too preppie to be of any use."

"We have to be careful with him," Magneto said. "He's as gifted a tactician as I've ever seen. If we make one false step, he'll figure everything out."

"Which is why you gave them the research notes. So he wouldn't figure anything out."

Magneto chuckled. "He can figure a little bit out. It's better if he does." To Callisto's skeptical expression, he added, "Trust me. I know how they think."

"As long as they don't know how you think."

"They don't. They never have."

- - - - -

Scott had offered to drive, and Jean handed over her keys without protest. Driving, Scott fell into Zen-like calm. She suspected that some part of his mind, the part that housed his tactical genius, maybe, was happily analyzing and responding to situations on the road. When he wasn't driving, though, his body couldn't react or respond, so he talked to or yelled at other drivers. To preserve her own sanity, Jean let him drive whenever they were together.

Today, though, while he was quiet as he navigated through New York City, Jean sensed his thoughts weren't as calm as they could be.

"What's bothering you?" She asked once they had cleared the last interchange before I-95. Best to get that out of the way before she told him about the control serum.

He stayed silent a moment longer, and she sensed his thoughts settling. At least he never tried to avoid the question or change the subject, she thought. Sometimes he'd say he wasn't ready to talk about it yet, but he always answered.

"The night before last."

She tensed. The last thing she'd expected to be bothering him was the phone sex experiment gone bad. She'd thought they'd just pretend it hadn't happened.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have --"

"No, Jean. No." He reached over to take her hand, bring it to his lips. "That's not it."

"What is 'it', then?" She wanted to relax, but still her stomach pulsed.

He rested their hands on his thigh. "You surprised me."

"That was at least partly the point."

He squeezed her hand. "I know."

"But you didn't enjoy it. Not the way I wanted you to, anyway." And could she sound more pathetic and disappointed?

"I didn't enjoy it as much as I wanted to."

"So I won't do it again."

"Don't jump to conclusions."

She felt both eyebrows climbing. "But if you didn't enjoy it, why should I do it again?"

"I didn't say I didn't enjoy it. I said I didn't enjoy it as much as I wanted to."

"The point stands. And the question."

She sensed his reluctance to say what came next. "I didn't enjoy it as much as I wanted to because I wasn't alone when you called."

"You weren't --" Then she groaned. "Kurt. I forgot."

"Not Kurt." So quietly she almost didn't hear him. "He'd already left to go back to Germany."

"Not Kurt? Who, then?" She couldn't imagine Scott taking anyone joyriding in the Blackbird, but he'd apparently done just that.

He clung to her hand. "My father."

His father. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the headrest.

"We ran into him at the Pentagon -- I wasn't expecting him, I swear. And then he invited me and Kurt over for dinner. After dinner, Kurt left, and we went flying."

"And then I called," she said, her voice as dull as her thoughts.

"Yes."

"Was he listening the whole time?"

"I don't -- No. I went to the back of the jet."

"You were about to say you don't know."

"I was about to say I don't think so."

"Why?" The question vibrated through her, and she had to remind herself that ripping the answer from his mind was wrong.

"Why'd we go flying?" He sounded confused.

"Why'd you do it, with him sitting right there?" She hated the note of hysteria that tinged the last two words.

"Because you wanted it." Simple and direct, like she'd come to expect from him over the years.

"Because I -- ?"

He just nodded, still holding her hand, though gently, as if he were afraid she'd pull away.

"Why," she began, her voice carefully steady, "didn't you ask me to link?"

"Link?" He sounded surprised. "We were three thousand miles apart."

"So?"

"So that's quite a distance for your telepathy to reach, isn't it? Even the professor can't reach that far without Cerebro helping."

"But if you'd asked, I would've known you weren't alone. I wouldn't have embarrassed myself -- God, what must your father think of me after that?"

"He invited us to Fourth of July barbecue."

Jean felt his mental, "Ah, crap," as soon as he said it. Under any other circumstances, she would've laughed. As it was, she all but yanked her hand from his grasp. "He did, did he? So he can meet the woman who gives his son phone sex?"

"He and Mom asked about you at dinner," Scott said. "They'd already invited us."

"That's so reassuring."

"That's not fair, Jean." His voice had taken on an edge she normally heard only in battle.

"Maybe it wasn't the best decision, but I don't see how I could've made any other."

"'Not now, hon, another time' wouldn't have worked?"

"Would it?" He countered, and it was almost a challenge. "Or would you have taken it as just another sign that your boyfriend isn't as wild as you want?"

"Not as wild?" She stretched a thought toward him, found that his mental shields were up as high and tight as she'd ever felt them.

"We've been together five years, Jean. When have you done that before?" He didn't give her a chance to answer before answering himself. "Never. So I'm supposed to refuse you when you do ask?"

"Because letting me embarrass myself in front of your father is so much better an option."

"Jean --"

"How am I supposed to look your father in the eye now?" She'd gone beyond reasonable, beyond rational, and Scott's outward calm did nothing to help. She wanted a good fight, and there he sat, simply driving. Maybe she should make him pull over and take the keys.

"I was --" he broke off, and it was a sign of how distressed he was that his shields faltered and she picked up the thought he'd tried to hide.

"You thought if you refused, I'd go to Logan?" She couldn't believe it, not from him. But the thought was clear in the instant before his shields slammed into place again. "Don't you hide from me, Scott Summers, not about this."

"I can't. You're the telepath, after all." It should've been a statement of fact, but his tone carried -- bitterness? Resentment? A little of both, she decided. "You'll always know what I'm thinking, if you bother to look."

"I don't eavesdrop, deliberately, you know that. And I don't go looking without permission." Those rules had been drilled into her since her power had manifested. The first thing the professor had told her was that it was rude to read minds without permission. In almost the same breath, he'd impressed on her the need to control that power. Telepathy was always on, of course, but she'd spent years learning how not to focus on others' thoughts, how to let those thoughts fade into the background like a radio tuned to a station she didn't like.

"Jesus, Jean."

"What? You know the rules almost as well as I do."

"I also know there are times the rules don't apply. I thought you did, too."

"You want me to go trolling for thoughts?"

He turned his head enough to be sure she knew he gave her a glance. "That's not what I said. I said there are times the rules don't apply. Like between us."

"You have the right to the privacy of your own thoughts, Scott. Do you want me just to come barging in whenever I feel like it?"

"You could've. It wouldn't have bothered me."

"You say that like it would bother you now."

"If you want to know what I'm thinking, I can't stop you."

"I'd rather you explain it to me."

"Explain what?"

"Why you think I'd go to Logan. That's a lot to infer from a kiss that I didn't even start." She'd thought they knew each other, trusted each other. To find he had so little faith in her disturbed her on more levels than she cared to think about.

"Trade you an explanation for an explanation."

"What?"

"Why'd you want phone sex that night? Why not before?"

Jean raised one hand in a half-shrug. "Why any time? It was an impulse."

"I see."

"What's that meant to mean?"

"Nothing. Just seems odd timing for an impulse."

"Just say what you're thinking." She could read his mind, and he couldn't stop her. She knew that, was very tempted to do it, but the habit of control was too strong.

"I'm thinking that you get a wild impulse for the first time within weeks of his dropping into our lives, and maybe that's not a coincidence."

"It was a rough procedure. Kitty did a lot of it, but I had to finish it. It was long, and invasive when I'd hoped it wouldn't be, and I was tired, and I wanted you."

"Me?" He sounded skeptical.

"You."

"I wish I could believe that." He thought it more than said it, but loudly enough that she picked the thought up.

"Why can't you? Because he kissed me?"

"It's not the kiss. Jesus -- you all think that I should be upset about it."

"A lot of people would be," Jean couldn't help saying.

"Like I told Ro, you're both beautiful women. Of course men notice. And men like Logan push. It's just the way they are." He sounded resigned more than angry.

"So what's really bothering you?"

"I told you. You didn't say yes when he asked if you really do love me. You started in on some lecture instead."

Behind his words, she picked up a strong sense that he wasn't telling her everything, and the urge to look into his thoughts was nearly overwhelming. She couldn't do that, she just couldn't -- but she could drop her own shields and be open to him.

"I didn't think it needed to be said. Wouldn't it just give some kind of validity to his question? Which, of course, he had no right to ask."

"Like going into some long, defensive explanation didn't give validity to it?" Scott sounded frustrated.

"You make it sound like there was nothing I could've said that didn't validate the question. It's none of his business."

"That never stopped anyone from asking something they wanted to know." His shields were the best she'd ever encountered among non-telepaths, but not even a telepath shielded perfectly all the time. Beneath his frustration, she picked up insecurity. Well, of course. That's what all of this boiled down to, after all.

"No, I guess not." She'd thought they'd built up a level of trust over the years -- not just time they'd spent together, but time they'd shared minds and hearts. Just how wrong had she been?


	11. Chapter 11

Thanks for sticking with me through chapter 10 -- I think it's the weakest chapter in the story, and I hope that what's coming next makes up for it.

After this chapter, all of the pieces are in place, and the fun can really begin. Tally ho!

X X X X X

"We've got the final repair estimates in." Scott paused in the doorway to Charles's office just long enough for the other man to nod a greeting, and then stepped inside and crossed to the sofa where Charles liked guests to sit. Lunch with Jean in Boston had been more strained than he'd hoped, and he'd broken more than a few speed limits on his drive home, just to help clear his head. Now he sought distraction, and so he'd stopped at his own office just long enough to pick up the estimates before coming to see Charles.

"Dare I ask what the damage is?"

Scott groaned. "Since when do you pun?"

"A good pun is a work of art."

"I'm sure it is." He didn't need to add that he considered Charles's pun inferior. "The question is, how much do we allocate to the school's budget and how much to the team's budget."

"The school sustained most of the damage --" Scott knew Charles used the term deliberately -- "outside of Cerebro."

"True. But Stryker did attack due at least in part to team activities. He had a photo of the jet as it was taking off from the basketball court. At the least, the team should pay for the repairs to the elevator and the underground levels."

Charles steepled his fingers. "Separating the finances will be a challenge."

"Tell me about it. But it's necessary. It may even become necessary to move the team to another location, but we'll burn that bridge when we come to it."

"Are the estimates itemized?"

Scott leaned forward to give him the folder he'd brought. "Everything non-sensitive is."

"I'll go over this, and we can discuss it tomorrow." Charles set the folder on his desk. "How are you?"

"Me?" Scott knew he sounded surprised. "Fine. How should I be?"

Charles studied him for a moment. "I don't blame you for what happened to me."

Scott felt his jaw tighten. "It would be easier if you did."

He hadn't been able to protect his teacher, his mentor, his sometime surrogate father. He'd thought he was a good martial artist, but he'd been taken down in less than two minutes. Where hadn't he failed? Why shouldn't Charles blame him?

"We weren't expecting an attack at a prison. The gas started to affect me even as I was contacting you."

"And I lost the fight." It was a bare statement, but it encompassed everything. "I couldn't stop Stryker and his son from manipulating you." Or me, he added silently.

"None of us expected the war to come to us, Scott. You shouldn't blame yourself."

"If not me, then who? I'm team leader. It's my job to anticipate things like that and stop them."

"And now you know more than you did two weeks ago."

The professor's phone rang before Scott could form a reply. He understood that Charles meant to reassure him, but there was no reassurance for this. He'd lost. His mentor had been manipulated. He'd been manipulated. And just knowing that such things could happen was no guarantee they wouldn't happen again. That bothered him the most.

Charles replaced his phone in its cradle. "We have a new arrival."

"Another student?"

"A little old to be a student, I think." Charles guided his chair toward the office door. The door opened and a dark-haired woman strode in. Scott rose to his feet. Even without the tattoo on her face, he would consider her striking. Not as beautiful as Jean, of course, but striking.

"Miss Alexandra Gabler," the receptionist, Carolyn, announced. "Miss Gabler, Professor Xavier and Mr. Summers."

"I prefer Callisto." She extended her hand first to Charles, then to Scott. She had a firm grip that he appreciated.

"Callisto, then. Please, sit. Carolyn will bring refreshments."

"Thank you." She sat on the sofa, more businesslike than ladylike. "I understand this is a safe place for mutants."

"It is," Charles assured her. "A sanctuary. Do you need that?"

"I need a place," she said. "Just a safe place, for a while."

"Did someone attack you?" Scott asked.

"No, but I'm tired of running. There are a lot of people out there who want my talent."

"What is your talent?" Charles asked.

"This." She stood and ran around the office, a blur of motion that settled in the same place she'd been half a minute before.

"Quite the display," Charles said.

"But that's not the talent they want. They want my other talent." She looked at Scott. "Your eyes give off solar radiation and energy and force. Very high power level, but you have no control." She turned to Charles. "You're a telepath. I've never sensed any power level higher than yours."

Now there was a talent people would love to have. Scott immediately saw applications for it both within the school and the team.

"There's a powerful weather-manipulator and someone who can turn into organic metal about fifty feet that way." She pointed toward the conservatory. "Between us and them, there's a dozen other mutants. Do you want their powers, too?"

"I believe we already know." Charles smiled.

"Who's after you?" Scott asked. He sensed Charles's disapproval, but he had to know what might be coming after her and possibly threatening the students.

"Some military type," Callisto said. "Stryker, I think his name is. I've been one step ahead of him for months."

"You shouldn't have to worry about him anymore," Scott said.

"Oh?" Callisto turned hopeful dark eyes toward him.

"I've heard he's… retired." He couldn't tell her the truth, not yet. But her power could be useful to the team, if she were right for that. He'd keep an eye on her.

Callisto shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just trying to get by."

"You're welcome to stay here as long as you need to," Charles told her. "We'll find you a room."

"I don't have much money."

"Please, don't worry about that for now," Charles said. "The important thing is that you're safe now. Scott? Perhaps the room next to Logan's?"

"This way." Scott rose and started to the door. "Are you hungry?"

"A little."

"Then we'll get something before I show you your room."

"Thanks." She smiled at him, and the light caught on the tattoo on her right cheek.

"What's this?" Scott raised one hand toward her cheek, but didn't touch her. It looked like a stylized Greek letter omega.

"Gang mark." She sounded reluctant to say anything more, and Scott could understand that. When he'd first come to the school, the mansion had overwhelmed him, and he'd come from a solidly middle class family. How much more daunting would it seem to someone from the streets?

"That's behind you now, if you want it to be," Scott said. "You have a new life, now. Starting with dinner."

- - - - -

Jean parked her car in the garage and simply sat for a few minutes. Scott's Mazda was already parked in its place next to her Toyota, evidence that once again he'd driven much too fast for her comfort.

His driving wasn't the only thing that discomfited her this time, though, and she needed to calm her thoughts before she went inside and ran into anyone else.

All during the drive from Boston, she'd replayed her conversation with Scott. Even Andrea Bocelli's voice swelling and the gentle colors of the sunset couldn't soothe her. The man she loved and trusted above any other had embarrassed her in front of his father. It was something she'd never expected from Scott, never even dreamed could happen.

And despite what he'd said, she couldn't believe he wasn't at least a little jealous of Logan. Of course, that particular argument wore thin quickly, and rubbed her last nerves raw, to the point where she hadn't even wanted to say goodbye after they left the Union Oyster House in Boston. The Oyster House, America's oldest restaurant, should've encouraged them to be happy, or at least respectful, but they'd eaten lunch in almost complete silence.

She groaned when she realized she hadn't thought to tell him about the possibility of a serum to help him control his powers. A small, vindictive part of her was glad of that. She'd have to tell him sooner or later. Right now, she voted for later.

_Join me for tea, Jean?_ Charles's mental voice touched her thoughts lightly.

_I'll be right there, Professor._ Maybe the distraction would help.

She stepped out of the car and went into the mansion. A quick scan told her that most of the younger students were in Ororo's supervised study hall. Peter, Marie, Bobby, and Kitty were gathered in the kitchen. Scott, thankfully, was in his office so she wouldn't run into him on her way to the professor's study. Logan -- wasn't in the mansion. A broader scan revealed him exploring the reaches of the mansion's grounds. Not too surprising, she thought, since he hadn't had much time to get to know the grounds before now. There was a new presence, female, hard to tell much more than that from just the light scan she'd done. But if she knew the professor, he'd tell her all about their new guest.

She made her way to the professor's study, tapped on the door, opened it in response to his psychic acknowledgment. "It's a little late for tea, isn't it? After dinner, and all?"

"It's never too late for tea," he said, wheeling his chair around to the table. "Tea provides a moment to rest and refresh the mind and spirit whenever it's needed."

Hers certainly needed refreshing, Jean thought, then shoved that thought and others like it behind her shields. "That the biscuits, crumpets, and scones taste divine is just a bonus, right?" she asked and sat down opposite Charles.

He gestured for her to pour the tea. "Or a good excuse. I'm not sure which."

Jean laughed, but focused her attention on pouring the tea. She'd shared tea with him many times, and she knew just how much milk to add to his cup. She levitated the cup and saucer to him, just because she could.

"Very good." He took the cup and saucer from the air, sipped the tea. "And the tea is just right, as well."

Jean poured her own tea, added sugar and milk, and sat back in her chair. Charles sipped silently, waiting, she knew, for her to talk about whatever troubled her. But she couldn't -- she fought a blush at even thinking about the subject of her talk with Scott earlier.

Behind very tight shields, she cast about for something to say. Then she had it, something Erik had said last night.

"I've been wondering about the blocks you put on my powers."

Charles set his cup aside. "They were necessary. Your telekinesis was one of the strongest powers I'd ever seen, and you were --" he paused a moment, smiled privately --"you weren't in the right frame of mind to understand or control those powers."

"I understand the blocks were necessary." Lunch with Scott had been four hours ago, and she hadn't had much appetite then. Jean took a scone and slathered jam on it. Clotted cream was more traditional, but she'd never acquired the taste for it. "What I don't understand is why you didn't remove the blocks as I matured."

"Some part of you wasn't ready to handle your power," Charles said. "Else the blocks would've come down naturally."

"How?" Jean asked. "The blocks weren't natural, after all."

"I designed them to come down when you were ready."

"How many other blocks like those had you erected?" She knew the answer already, intuitively, deep within herself, but she needed to hear him say it.

And he did, however reluctantly. "None."

She took a sip of tea both to wash down the scone and to give her a moment to calm thoughts that suddenly boiled. Just how much of her had he held back behind those artificial blocks? "So you had no idea what you were doing, really. You couldn't know that the blocks would come down when I was ready. So the question stands. Why didn't you remove them?"

"Do you believe you were ready? When?"

"I believe I would've learned to use my powers better if I'd had access to them sooner. As it happened, I had to learn on the job, and somehow manage not to kill Scott in the process."

She'd meant to shock him, and she had -- his own shields wavered for a moment and she caught a flash of deep regret and something she couldn't quite name.

"Try to understand," he said. "When you were younger, none of us knew how powerful you would become. You were already the strongest telekinetic ever known, and there was a chance that your powers would grow even greater."

"So you put the blocks in, yes, I understand that." Jean didn't try to keep the note of impatience from her voice. "Why leave them up?"

"As a precaution, against flare-ups."

Jean just stared at him. "Flare-ups?"

"Perhaps growth spurts is a better term. An out-of-control telekinetic is bad. An out-of-control telepath is far worse."

"I'm not that strong a telepath, even now."

"At the time, none of us knew how powerful you'd become." Charles picked up his cup again. "Erik thought you had the potential to be the strongest of us."

"What did you think?" How strange, she thought, to hear that a man who was her enemy had more faith in her than the man she thought of as her teacher.

"I thought you needed to find that out for yourself."

"Just like Logan needed to recover his memories for himself." She sounded bitter and she knew it.

"Pardon?"

"I read his mind, the first night he got here."

"There were safer people to practice on than Wolverine."

"Likely so. But you must've seen what I saw, and more. Why not tell him?"

"He wasn't ready to hear it, any more than you were ready to explore your full potential when you were twelve."

"And whose decision was that to make?" Jean kept her voice steady through will alone.

"In your case, your parents. They agreed with my suggestion to put the blocks in and let you learn gradually."

"But I didn't learn anything about handling higher power levels until I had access to them -- when the blocks started falling after Cerebro."

"That wasn't an easy road, either, was it? How many times did your telekinesis injure Scott, or even yourself?"

In that, he was right, Jean thought. Her nightmares between Liberty Island and Alkali Lake had been vivid, leaving her shaken and shaking in Scott's arms when she woke. One morning he'd had a bruise as big as her thumb on his temple. He'd brushed it aside, but she knew something had hit him during the night, something thrown by her power during a nightmare.

She'd offered to sleep in her office until the nightmares passed, but Scott wouldn't hear of it. "You need familiar surroundings," he'd said. "And I need to know you're okay."

"The point stands, Professor." Jean forced those memories aside, refocused on her conversation with Charles. "It wasn't until I could access the higher power levels that I could control it. If I could've accessed them earlier, I could've controlled them sooner." She sat forward. "I agree, in general, with what you're saying. Powers should develop naturally. But mine were blocked from that, and maybe they shouldn't have been."

Not, she knew now, that they would've developed any further than they had when she was twelve. She was both disappointed and liberated when the professor had told her he thought all of the blocks were gone. Disappointed because she didn't have the power levels he and Erik had told her she would be capable of. Liberated because she didn't have the pressures attendant with such high power levels.

The professor was silent for long moments as he finished his tea. Then he said, "I can't say I would give the same advice today that I gave then. But now I have you and Scott and Ororo and the others to help. And we have the Danger Room."

"I guess we're all only human," Jean said, and shared a smile with the professor.

"We make mistakes and we learn from them and hope not to make the same ones again," Charles agreed.

Jean collected their empty cups and stacked them neatly on the tray with her telekinesis.

"Jean --" She looked up at the unaccustomed hesitation in his tone. "When you and Scott returned from Boston, you both had your shields very firmly in place. Is there something wrong?"

"We'll work it out." Jean hoped she sounded confident.

"You know I'll keep anything either of you tell me in confidence."

"I know." She stood and bent to kiss his cheek. "But I've got work in the lab that's been waiting since this morning." And there was no way she'd ever feel comfortable telling him just what the problem between her and Scott was.

- - - - -

It was well and truly night when Logan returned to the mansion. The grounds were extensive, and this was the first chance he'd had to explore them since he'd arrived -- was it really more than a month ago? It was too bad that he hadn't taken the time before now. He'd found where Mystique had come onto the grounds -- her scent was faint but still lingered -- and where she'd sat with Marie and told her to leave the school.

The mansion was quiet this Sunday evening, most of the students already in bed or else doing homework at the last minute. Normally he preferred quiet over the stomping of feet and students shouting and laughing in the halls. Tonight, though, he would welcome those distractions, painful as they were to his enhanced hearing. Then he wouldn't have the time and space to think about Deathstrike.

Yuriko. He tested the name in his mind, sensing associations that lingered just out of his conscious reach. The only thing he knew for certain was that he had known her as Yuriko, not Deathstrike, despite her protest that they hadn't been "that close." Was she trying to be kind to him and not remind him of something he couldn't remember, or had she just been trying to ease her own conscience for some reason?

It was the not knowing that hurt the most.

Logan paced the corridors and, hoping for some sort of distraction, inhaled the scents of this place he'd chosen to come back to, chosen to call home. This close to the dining room, everyone's scents were fairly strong after dinner. Even Scott had apparently eaten dinner, but --

He inhaled again, more deeply. He was right. Jean's scent didn't linger. She hadn't had dinner nor, probably, lunch in the dining room. So where was she?

He debated whether he should track her down, gave in to the urge to do so. She was telepathic and telekinetic, but neither of those would help her if she had somehow managed to fall and knock herself unconscious.

He'd start at the top and work his way down. Top meant Ororo's loft, and though the women were friends, Jean hadn't been there recently. Next came the student dorms, but he hadn't expected Jean's scent there, and it wasn't.

He was oddly pleased when Jean's scent didn't overlay Scott's at their room. Had she moved out? And could he hope that she had?

On the ground level, he found her scent lingering at Xavier's office. It was the most recent he'd found, and he followed it to the concealed elevator and then out into the first basement level.

He smiled, then, no need for scent to trail her now. Light shone from the infirmary, and he made his way down the hall. He didn't scent anyone else with her, no infection, no blood, so she was probably in her office or the laboratory.

He found her in her office, resting one arm on her desk and her head in that hand, apparently engrossed in reading something on her computer screen. She hadn't noticed his approach, her back slightly toward her door, and he took a few heartbeats to simply enjoy the look of her hair shining in the light.

"I lost a bet with myself," he said.

She didn't jump, just turned her head to face him. "How do you lose a bet with yourself?"

"I bet you were in the lab, and you're not."

She smiled. "Good luck trying to collect."

He stepped inside, and she was already turning back to her screen. "You missed dinner."

She sounded distracted when she said, "I'll get something after a while."

"Aren't you the one always telling the students to eat right?" Logan dropped a hip on the edge of her desk, looked over her shoulder at the computer screen. He thought the image displayed was DNA, and a quick read of the caption confirmed that. The text was gibberish, though -- something about recombinant or recessive somethings-or-other -- and he barely gave it a glance.

"Of course. It's the hypocrisy of adulthood. Do as I say, not as I do, until society says you're old enough to do as you will." A notebook lay open on the desk beside her, and he picked it up.

"Not your typical doctor," he said, studying the diagrams of DNA and the notes she'd jotted next to them. "I can read your handwriting."

"Did you need something, Logan?"

"Thought you might need to take a break." He reached out, rested a hand on the junction of her neck and shoulder, felt her jump under his touch. "Your neck's all tense, and you were frowning when I came in."

"Heavy reading."

"Doesn't mean you can't take a break now and then." He turned her chair so she faced away from him, started to massage her shoulders.

She rotated her head, let it fall forward while his thumbs dug into her shoulders. "Feels good."

"Not half as good as touching you."

She didn't straighten immediately, but she did straighten. "I should get back to this."

Logan didn't let his hands drop away from her shoulders, and she scooted her chair forward, gave a quiet curse when she bumped her knee into the tower under her desk.

"Dammit."

Now he did let his hands drop as she rolled her chair backward and bent over to look under her desk. The curve of her back and ass almost made up for the loss of touching her. Almost.

She sat up, and he saw that she held a thumb drive. Before she could re-insert it into the tower, he plucked it from her fingers.

"I'm not done with that."

"You can be done with it long enough to have dinner." He held it out of her reach, fully aware that she could levitate it out of his hand if she chose.

"Logan --"

He dangled the thumb drive between them. "Dinner. Then you can have it back." Then he frowned. There was something strange about the drive, something wrong. It tickled his awareness, half-formed and tantalizingly out of reach.

"Okay," Jean said. "Dinner. Can I have it now?"

Anyone else would've missed the subtle signals she gave off. She didn't want him to look at the drive too closely. That was fine; just looking at it wouldn't tell him anything. Instead, he brought it to his nose and sniffed.

"Logan." Her tone held a warning note, and he felt the drive trying to pull out of his grasp.

He tightened his grip on the drive, let his eyes drift closed as he sorted the layers of scents on the drive. Jean's was strongest, most recent. Beneath that --

He snarled. "The hell is this, Jeannie?"

"What?" Her chin lifted, defiant and challenging. "It's a thumb drive with genetic research data on it."

"It's got Magneto's scent on it."

"I'm sure it doesn't." But her pulse rate had jumped. She was lying.

"Think I'd forget his scent so soon? What's going on, Jeannie?"

Before she could answer, the phone on her desk buzzed, and Scott's voice came through the speaker.

"X-Men, meet me in the downstairs conference room. Now."


	12. Chapter 12

Scott watched the other X-Men come into the conference room. Jean and Logan arrived first -- and together, he noted sourly, though both of them looked grim rather than guilty -- followed by Peter, Kitty, Ororo, and finally Bobby and Marie.

"The Pentagon called," he said without preamble. "They're requesting our assistance in capturing a mutant criminal."

"You sure you want us along for that?" Marie asked in her soft Southern accent. "We're not trained yet."

"I want all of us along," he answered, including Jean with a nod. "They don't know much about how our target's power works, so I'm erring on the side of caution."

"You mean overkill."

Scott had to smile at Logan's observation. "Maybe." He punched a control and a holographic image of a dark-haired man appeared over the planning table.

"That's our target," Scott continued. "James Madrox."

"What's his power?" Ororo asked.

"He can split into duplicates of himself," Scott said. "The Oregon police are calling him the Multiple Man."

"How many duplicates can he make?" Peter asked.

"Unknown. But they all seem to retain his strength and skills."

"Why do they want him?" Scott heard the note of caution in Ororo's voice.

"Bank robbery," he answered. "Seven banks at the same time. The local police tracked him, but were, quote, swarmed, unquote, and he escaped. They're not sure where he is now."

"Couldn't make it easy for us, could they?" Logan observed.

"Suit up," Scott said. "You can review what we've got on him while we're en route."

- - - - -

Jean sat in her usual spot behind the pilot's seat. She'd wrapped her ankle firmly, grateful the swelling was down enough that her boot would zip over the bandage -- more snugly than she was used to, but she could fight or run if she had to.

_How're the trainees doing?_ Scott's mental question was all business. She'd felt his irritation when she and Logan had arrived at the conference room together, but there hadn't been time to talk to him about the circumstances.

Now she cast her psychic senses backward to where Bobby, Kitty, Marie, and Peter sat. All four were reading the report from the Portland police department on James Madrox, the Multiple Man.

_Well enough_, she told Scott. _Peter and Kitty are a bit more settled than Bobby and Marie._

_Because they went on the rescue mission?_

_Probably_, Jean replied. _They're all okay, though. Certainly no worse than we were when we went on our first missions._

Scott acknowledged that, and she felt his presence in her mind fade. He wasn't going to keep up the contact any longer than he believed was necessary, at least as long as she wasn't ready to talk.

And she wasn't, yet. She might have been, if Logan hadn't distracted her from her reading and caught Erik's scent lingering on the thumb drive. Now dealing with that had to take priority.

Logan -- he sat opposite her, behind Ororo. He'd skimmed the data on Multiple Man quickly and now sat in a pre-battle calm. If only Bobby could learn to do that, she wouldn't have to keep her psychic shields in place.

Then again -- Bobby wasn't the only one radiating more nerves than the others. Ororo was, too. Jean stretched out her mind to her friend's.

_Something wrong, Ro?_

_Pre-fight jitters, that's all. _

Jean thought there was more to it than that, but it was Ororo's choice whether to talk about it or not, so, after reassuring Ororo that she'd listen if the other woman wanted to talk, Jean withdrew into her own mind again.

- - - - -

Scott landed the Blackbird in Portland's Waterfront Park, not far from the main office of the Portland Police Bureau. Outside the jet, a number of officers waited for them to disembark.

"Tell me you're gonna lock it," Logan said, eyeing the gathered officers through the cockpit windshield.

"Setting the alarm, too," Scott answered. "No, it doesn't have Lo-Jack."

"Next incarnation?"

Scott grinned as he powered the engines down. "Definitely."

The group of officers gathered gave them skeptical looks as they descended the Blackbird's ramp. Scott touched a control on his wrist, and the ramp returned to its closed position.

"Lieutenant Cooke?" A man who looked about forty stepped forward in response to Scott's inquiry, and Scott offered his hand. "You can call me Cyclops."

There hadn't been any question as to whether they'd use real names or code names. Jean had quietly told him she'd use the name Phoenix just before they landed. He wondered at the choice of name, but now wasn't the time to ask.

Cooke shook his hand. "I called the FBI."

"We're a special task force," Scott said smoothly, "working in cooperation with federal authorities. What's the situation?"

"Madrox robbed seven banks between four and five last evening. We thought we had him trapped, but he swarmed the units responding -- and got away." Cooke recited the facts succinctly, accepting responsibility for what had happened without making excuses. "A chopper unit tracked his vehicle west of town. Our unit found it abandoned, and he'd apparently fled into Forest Park. We haven't been able to track him since."

"Dogs?" Scott asked.

Cooke shook his head. "Can't find which trail to follow. We've been down dozens of dead end trails."

"Logan?"

"Shouldn't be a problem," Logan responded. "Just give me a map. And a comlink."

"Don't go against him solo," Scott said. "Just find him and wait for us to join you."

Logan nodded and accepted the map from Cooke. Scott wanted to trust that Logan would follow orders, forced himself to outward calm.

"How about a ride to where you lost him?" Logan asked.

- - - - -

Three hours later, Logan's voice came through the comlink. "Got 'im."

Scott adjusted the tracking device he held. A cluster of red lights blinked around him -- the team who had remained behind while Logan tracked Madrox -- and a small arrow toward the top of the display screen indicated Logan's direction. "Incoming," he responded. "Wait for us."

"I will if he will."

Scott grinned and turned to Cooke. "You'll probably want to wait here."

Cooke snorted.

"For your own safety," Scott added. "This Madrox character hasn't killed yet that we know of, but he might."

"He could kill you, too," Cooke pointed out.

"True enough. But we've trained for mutant combat. We'll be fine." He hoped. He still hadn't forgotten the first time he and Storm had gone against Magneto's brotherhood and had their backsides handed to them on a platter. He extended a comlink to Cooke. "This will let you know what's going on."

Cooke took the small device, put it in his ear. He looked almost relieved, Scott thought. Not that the man would admit it.

"Let's go," Scott said to the others, and started into the woods.

- - - - -

Logan was waiting for them beside a fallen tree. Scott had led the team on a forced march through the darkened woods, trusting that Jean would levitate to keep up with them. He hated having to ask her to exert herself on an injury, but this mission was too important to screw up.

"Over that rise," Logan said quietly. "Sunnabitch is good, I'll give him that. Laid down a couple of dozen criss-crossing trails. No wonder the dogs couldn't track him."

"They couldn't track me?" The voice came from behind them.

"Nice to know I haven't lost my touch." The same voice, but it came from off to Scott's right.

"You're good, all right." The same voice from directly ahead of them.

The sharp snikt of Logan's claws extending punctuated his snarl. "See who's better, won't we?"

"No claws, Wolverine. We're here to capture, not execute." Scott subvocalized into his comlink so Madrox wouldn't hear what he said. He assumed Logan's grunt was an acknowledgment, though he didn't retract his claws immediately.

Madrox -- several of them -- laughed. Scott lost track of how many there were. "Just how many can you handle?"

"Come and find out, bub."

"Defensive position hydra," Scott ordered. That position put the hand to hand fighters on the front line, left those with distance powers behind them. "We need to know how his power works. Rogue?"

Marie stripped off her gloves. She looked nervous, but that was to be expected. More importantly, she looked determined.

"Iceman, contain as many as you can." Scott turned a slow circle. "Rough estimate five to one. That can change any time."

"You gonna fight?" Madrox asked.

"Or just stand there looking bad-ass all day?" Another Madrox finished.

Scott allowed a grin, spoke aloud for the first time. "We don't just look bad-ass. X-Men, go."

Logan leapt at the nearest Madrox, retracted his claws as he did. Armor covered Peter's body, and he stepped forward.

"Storm, chain lightning?" Scott subvocalized again.

"Too many," she answered. "And it could kill him."

"J -- Phoenix, can you tell which is the original?" It would take him a while to get used to calling her Phoenix.

"Not yet." She looked at the Madrox approaching who'd gotten past Kitty, and the Madrox flew backward into a tree. "And if I'm fighting, it'll take a while."

"Behind me, then. Find the original." Instinct told him that the original would be key to this fight. Just what kind of key, he didn't know. Another Madrox approached and Scott didn't bother using his blasts. Years of martial arts practice with his father and brother, and later at the school and with the team, were enough for this fight so far. He sidestepped Madrox's attack, sent the other man headlong into a tree. "Rogue, got one here."

"I'm busy."

Scott looked to where Marie faced two Madroxes. She dodged one, moved in to grapple. He winced at the tactic -- Madrox out-massed Marie by probably twenty kilos. She shouldn't try to grapple with that large an opponent, not at her level of skill. He knew she had to get close enough to touch him to use her power, but it didn't make the tactic any less dangerous.

Then he had to brace himself against the wind Ororo had summoned. It roared through the trees, and three Madroxes struggled against its force.

"Send them over here." That was Peter, calm even though Scott saw a Madrox holding -- trying to hold, he corrected -- each of Peter's arms and another one moving in to strike.

"Or here," Logan said from the middle of a circle of a half-dozen Madroxes. "The more the merrier." And he did look like he was enjoying himself, Scott thought. That figured.

"I've got it." Rogue's voice echoed through the comlink. Scott tapped the device in his ear, wondering why it should echo when it never had before, looked toward where he'd last seen her, and understood.

She'd made contact and absorbed Madrox's power, as evidenced by the half dozen Rogues now swarming over the two Madroxes she'd faced earlier. Two or three of the Rogues were talking at once, which caused the echo.

"Talk to me," Scott said, dialing down the setting on his visor so his blast would just stun the Madroxes approaching him and Jean, not kill them.

"Find the original, Madrox Prime. If you knock him out, the others will fall, too."

"Phoenix." Scott blasted the Madroxes approaching. None of the others fell, so he assumed neither of those two had been Prime.

"Working on it." Jean sounded distracted.

"A little faster," Logan said. "There's a flamin' lot of him."

"It takes too long to build an ice cage," Bobby said. "They multiply faster than I can contain them."

"Then blast them," Scott ordered. "Ice balls, freeze the ground under them so they slip and fall, anything. The more we take down, the greater the chances of finding Prime."

"The only one that staggered when I took his power was the one I touched," Rogue said. "He --"

Her voice broke off, and Scott turned to see the multiple Rogues collapsing into the body of Rogue Prime, who lay apparently unconscious at the feet of one of the Madroxes.

"You were Prime, though," Madrox said. "Not anymore."

Scott felt Jean start forward, held out a hand to stop her. "Leave her for now," he ordered. "We have to stop Madrox. Find Madrox Prime."

She grimaced, but nodded, and he blasted another Madrox approaching.

"Wolverine, can you tell any difference between them?" Scott asked.

"They all stink, Cyke. None more than others."

"And they all make the same thud when they fall," Peter added.

"Up to you," Scott muttered over his shoulder to Jean. "Storm, fall in on my flank. Protect Phoenix."

- - - - -

_"Protect Phoenix."_

Scott's simple order rang in Jean's mind. But she had to focus on separating out the thoughts of the dozens of Madroxes they fought, tracing patterns to find Madrox Prime.

"They all think alike," she murmured, not realizing she spoke aloud.

"Can you mind-whammy 'em?"

Logan's question made her chuckle. "Not all at once," she said.

"Even in batches," Logan said. "Might take Prime down."

"I don't know. I haven't practiced that before." I wasn't strong enough, she added to herself.

"I can." Scott sounded calm and confident. "X-Men, drop."

Jean watched Peter, Bobby, and Logan fall to the ground, felt the Madroxes' collective surprise.

"I'm phased," Kitty said.

"Good." A ruby swath swept the clearing as Scott unleashed his power. Madroxes went flying.

And there were lots fewer minds to sort. Jean slipped along the thought-troughs easily now, unfettered by dozens of overlapping, tangled sensations.

"That better?" Scott asked.

"Leave something for the rest of us to do," Logan grumbled.

Jean barely registered the words, focused as she was on tracing the different thoughts. Then she found it, a faint trace of panic and escape.

"He's running," she said. "North. He has a car hidden."

"Wolverine, go." Scott hadn't finished saying the other man's name before she felt Logan taking off after Madrox Prime.

"I've got him," she said quietly. She let her mind wrap around his. _Go to sleep._ She sent the mental command directly into his subconscious, felt him try to stay awake, and then finally succumb.

She staggered, and Scott was there to steady her. "Easy," he murmured. "You can take a moment." Then, into the comlink, "Wolverine?"

"Found him," Logan answered. "He's out."

"Lieutenant Cooke?"

"Here," the officer said.

"Wolverine will give you coordinates. Bring an IV sedative to keep Madrox unconscious."

"I can set that up," Jean said. "After I check on Rogue." She stepped away from Scott's arm, crossed to where Rogue lay.

"She's a doctor," Scott added. "And we'll coordinate with the feds about containment procedures after this."

"Roger that," Cooke said, and Jean knelt beside Rogue to check on the girl.

"How is she?" Scott's voice came from above and behind her.

"Nothing's grossly broken," Jean said after finishing a quick exam. "I didn't see where he hit her, so I can't rule out internal bleeding or even a minor skull fracture."

"I'll give her my healing factor when I get back," Logan said through the comlink.

"Anyone else hurt?" Jean asked. A chorus of nos came through the comlink, but she checked on each one psychically before letting herself relax. Her medical skills wouldn't be needed this time.

- - - - -

It wasn't until after Marie had recovered, thanks to Logan's healing factor, Jean had set up an IV sedative to keep Madrox unconscious for the time being, and the team was enclosed in the Blackbird that Scott grinned.

"I'd say our first official mission was a success," he said. "Good work, everyone."

Logan watched the younger X-Men sag with relief and post-battle exhilaration. Bobby had his arm around Marie, their combat armor ensuring their skin didn't touch. Peter stood straight, near where Kitty sat on a bench in the back of the jet. Jean sat on the other bench, her injured leg elevated. She'd brushed off concerns with, "It's fine, just a little overworked today."

That was an understatement, Logan thought, considering that the "day" included the overnight tracking and fight with Madrox.

"Good leadership," Ororo said from where she sat in the co-pilot's seat.

"And good teamwork," Jean added.

"Yes," Scott agreed. "No one could ask for a better team than we have here."

"Be nice to know why one member of this team has been consorting with the enemy, though," Logan observed, and watched the shocked expressions flitter across the others' faces.

"What do you mean?" Scott's tone was neutral.

"Jean was looking at data earlier from a thumb drive that has Magneto's scent all over it." It was a calculated risk, bringing this accusation publicly, but Logan couldn't see that he had any other choice. As it was, he was the only one who knew about it, and Jean could easily erase his memories if she chose. All her fancy talk about telepathic ethics meant precisely squat when push came to shove. This way, they'd all know, and it would be more difficult for Jean to erase all their memories. And if she did, there was a greater chance that Charles would pick up something.

"How does that lead to consorting?" Scott asked.

"Scent was recent. Not more than a day or two old." Logan leaned against the Blackbird bulkhead. "You talk to him while you were in the city last night, Jeannie?"

"I did," she said. "Not, of course, that it's any of your business." Who knew a hot-tempered redhead could be so frosty?

"What's going on, Jean?" Scott kept a neutral tone, gathering information, not accusing. Which Logan had expected -- not just because it was Scott's job. If Jean were influencing anyone on the team telepathically, it would be Scott.

"He gave me some research data, that's all," Jean said.

"Your pulse just jumped," Logan said. "That's not all, is it?"

"Logan." Now Scott's tone held a note of warning.

"Not entirely all, no," Jean said. "But it's all I'm prepared to say without having verified the data."

"Why would he give us anything?" Ororo asked. "We're not exactly friends."

Jean took a breath before answering. "The implications of the data are … potentially staggering. He doesn't have the resources to follow through on it, and we do. He had nothing to lose by sharing it, and potentially a lot to gain."

"What's the data concerning?" Scott asked.

"That's what I'd rather not say."

"Why not?" There was the commander voice Logan had been waiting for. If Jean were influencing Scott, it wasn't total.

"Professional ethics." Jean matched Scott's tone.

"Jean --"

"No, Scott. I won't say anything until I know what the data truly says. Anything else would be unethical."

A muscle in Scott's jaw twitched. "How long?"

Jean shrugged. "Two or three days -- full working days, that is. Maybe four."

"Friday evening?"

Jean considered that for a moment. "Most likely."

"I want a full report then."

"You'll have it."

"You gonna tell the rest of us, Cyke?" Logan asked.

"I'll tell the team myself," Jean said. "Unless Scott orders me not to. I don't think he will," she added quickly.

"Will that do?" Scott asked, and Logan had no choice but to nod in agreement. That didn't mean he wouldn't keep an eye on Jean more closely. And Scott, in case she tried to manipulate him.


	13. Chapter 13

Still not mine. I'm just having a little (twisted) fun with them for a while.

Thanks for the great reviews! They make my day (and, sometimes, my entire week), and they're encouraging me to continue with SUPPLEMENTARY ANGLES, the sequel. SA is currently at 27,000 words and counting…

Hope you like this chapter, and thanks for reading!

X X X X X

Scott had assumed he'd be the first one awake after the fight with Madrox. They hadn't gotten back to the mansion until dawn, and he seemed to have an inbred inability to sleep while sun streamed through his window, so he'd catnapped for a couple of hours and then started toward the kitchen. The only other person he'd expect to see up this early had beat him to it.

Logan stood at the open refrigerator holding a carton of eggs in his hand. "The hell?" he muttered. "Not enough eggs here to feed me, let alone a school full of kids."

Scott couldn't help chuckling. "There's a bigger fridge in the pantry. Lots of eggs." He crossed the kitchen into the pantry and pulled open the door of the industrial-sized fridge inside.

"Of course there is," Logan said. "Because storing things in the same place makes too much sense."

"Bulk storage versus active storage," Scott countered. "What are we making?"

"We?" He heard the surprise in Logan's question.

"Even you're not anti-social enough to cook just for yourself after a fight like that." He hoped.

"Guess not. What else you got in there?"

Scott studied the contents of the fridge, mentally reorganizing them in his head. If Sharon, the school's cook, could find things in this mess, more power to her. "Bacon, sausage, ham."

"Sausage is better than ham."

"Why not all of them?" Scott turned and tossed the package of bacon to Logan, who caught it one-handed and slapped it down on the counter. A half-pound of sausage in a plastic bag followed. Then the package of deli ham.

"Good start," Logan said. "What else?"

"Onion, bell pepper, mushrooms, green onion."

"No peppers. They give me gas."

"What, your healing factor doesn't work on that?" Scott tossed the package of mushrooms at him. "Both onions or just one?"

Logan caught the mushrooms. "You don't want the details. Just the regular onion."

Scott found the onion and tossed it casually over his shoulder, not looking. He heard Logan's curse and then, "Threw that one like a girl, Summers."

"Catch this." He'd found a block of cheese, threw it harder, backward over his shoulder.

"Better. Not by much, but better."

That judgmental tone irritated the hell out of Scott -- even though he knew Logan was at least mostly correct in his assessment. Backward throwing was not one of Scott's best skills. Then he couldn't help grinning at what he saw next. The last ingredient -- a fresh carton of eggs. Whole, unbroken, eggs. "Try this."

He threw it even harder, then waited for the crunch that would tell him Logan had missed.

"Christ." At least he'd gotten an exclamation out of the other man, and he turned just in time to see Logan spear the carton with a set of claws as it fell just past his arm's reach.

Scott couldn't help laughing, leaning against the still-open refrigerator for support. "Still think I throw like a girl?"

"Never expected you to throw eggs at me." He pulled the carton off his claws. "Guess we don't have to crack those eggs."

"You think I'm going to eat eggs you clawed?" Scott closed the fridge and came out into the kitchen proper.

"What's wrong with that?" Logan retracted his claws, opened the carton. "You squeamish about a little blood in your eggs or something? My blood's clean. Healing factor."

"Yours, sure. What about all those other people you've clawed? And small animals? And not-so-small animals? Oh, and Sabretooth."

"Sabretooth heals like I do. Should be just as clean."

"Gross."

"Fine." Logan opened cabinets until he found a bowl. "We'll cook the eggs past the rubbery done stage so you can be sure any nasties in them are killed. Deal?"

Scott grabbed a skillet from the storage drawer under the stove. "Why'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

Scott focused on breaking the sausage into the skillet and browning it. "Call Jean out in front of the team."

For a moment, the only sound was of Logan whisking eggs together. "I figured if we all knew, there was less chance she could control our minds and make us forget. If it was just me who knew -- maybe I wouldn't know."

"You're sure it's Magneto's scent?" Now he looked at Logan.

"That's one I'm not likely to forget." Logan didn't sound insulted that he'd asked, though, and that surprised him. "Yeah, it's his, and fresh. Not more than a day when I scented it."

"Saturday, then." He got the mushrooms and onions, added them to the sausage. He'd spoken with Peter on Saturday night, and Ororo -- and Jean had gone for a dubious appointment that afternoon. "She met with him Saturday afternoon. Maybe Saturday night."

"Not anywhere near the mansion. I didn't catch his scent on the grounds."

"I wouldn't expect him to come on the grounds. He probably sent Mystique."

"Didn't scent her, either."

"Maybe she figured a way to disguise her scent." Scott turned back to the skillet. "Are the eggs ready?" Logan didn't reply. "Logan?"

"Yeah." The other man handed him the bowl containing eggs and shredded cheese. "I know what she did."

Scott wondered at the dejected tone in Logan's voice, but simply took the bowl to pour the egg mixture into the skillet and said, "What'd she do?"

"Disguised herself as you. Overdosed on aftershave."

"Overdosed…? Oh." Well, at least that explained why Logan had been sniffing at his aftershave in a way that didn't freak him out. Why Logan sounded dejected, though -- that was something else Scott decided not to think about too much.

- - - - -

"That was some good work your team did Sunday night."

Scott couldn't help the burst of pride he felt at praise from his father and gave thanks that this was just a normal phone call instead of a video call. He tried to keep his voice neutral when he answered, "We still have room to improve, but I think capturing the Multiple Man made my point to the Joint Chiefs."

"They're impressed, all right." His father sounded amused. "So much that they've named me their official liaison to the X-Men."

Scott couldn't help chuckling. "You did tell them that the meeting was the first time we'd seen each other in years, right?"

"I did. Didn't help."

"You tried." So his father's plan was not to talk about those years. He wasn't surprised, really. Neither he nor his father were big talkers, especially when it came to personal issues. It was one reason he was glad for his relationship with Jean. Her telepathy, erratic though it might be, meant that she usually understood how he felt without his having to explain it.

"I've been told to arrange a tour of your facility. The clip of your training session got shown to some special forces types, and they want to try it."

Now Scott laughed aloud.

"Their exact words were, 'We gotta try that.'"

"That sounds like special forces."

"Doesn't it?" His father's tone echoed his own amusement. "Happens that a team of SEALs and a team of Delta will be available in a couple of weeks. That work?"

"We'll make it work," Scott said. "We're talking two teams of five or six men each, right?"

"Plan for six each. And the brass wants a tour, which means they want me to review it for security purposes before they arrive."

"Probably the most danger they'll face here is from an occasional power flare-up," Scott said as he scrolled through his calendar program. "When do you want to come?"

"Before the spec ops guys do. This weekend or early next week is best for me."

"How about bringing Mom for the weekend, and then you can do the official stuff on Monday?" It was the least he could do to return the dinner invitation they'd extended to him and Kurt.

"Don't know if your mother wants to come, but I'll ask."

"Good enough." Scott entered the information into his calendar. "Any word on whether they're doing anything about Mystique?"

"Senator Kelly has been away this week. Soon as he gets back, they're going to get him."

"Her. At least to the degree gender matters with a metamorph."

His father snorted. "I'll keep it simple, thanks. Anything we need to know before we get there?"

"Just be aware that there will be strange things happening -- unavoidable, where developing mutations are concerned -- but most of them aren't any more serious, relatively speaking, than the scraped knees and occasional broken bone of any childhood."

"Don't panic, in other words."

"Right. We're used to it, and we'll handle anything that comes up. Oh, and it's rude to ask what someone's mutation is first thing."

"Fair enough. I'll call you back and let you know whether your mother is coming."

"Looking forward to it." But he wasn't looking forward to telling Jean she'd be meeting his father much sooner than she'd thought.

- - - - -

"Hey, you."

Jean smiled at the sound of Scott's voice and turned toward the doorway. "Hey, yourself. What's up?"

"Brought you dinner." He slid the tray he carried onto her desk, and she turned from the notes Magneto had given her, inhaling the savory aroma of minestrone soup and --

"Is that fresh bread?"

"Uh-huh." Scott looked immeasurably pleased with himself. "I bribed Sharon into making some. I know how much you like it, and you've been working hard these last couple of days."

"Must've been some bribe. She hates making bread." Jean broke off a chunk and offered it to him.

"Not that bad." He took the bread and grinned. "I have to teach her to play chess."

"Such a hardship for you," Jean teased as she raised her spoon to her mouth. Sharon had come to them a couple of years before, a mutant with a keen sense of taste and smell who could easily pass as normal, but felt called to help others with less benign mutations. The school allowed her to do that in a way she enjoyed, cooking.

"Worse than it sounds, actually. She's got no gift for strategy or tactics at all. Or so Kitty says."

"How does Kitty know?"

"Kitty was the first person to try to teach her to play chess." Scott's dry tone made Jean chuckle. But she sobered as she took the next bite of bread.

"What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

That he hadn't directly answered told her she wasn't going to like the answer when she heard it. "You just consigned yourself to purgatory for a while. Why?"

He rested one hip on the edge of her desk. "My father's been named official liaison to the X-Men from the Joint Chiefs."

"Is that good or bad?" She knew his relationship with his parents hadn't been close, and especially not since his power had manifested. She'd thought their invitation to Scott and Kurt meant the elder Summerses were warming toward Scott, but he hadn't commented on that particular aspect of it.

"We'll find out. He and Mom are coming this weekend."

There it was, the thing she didn't like. "Here? They're coming here?"

"Saturday afternoon. Mom's going home Sunday night, but Dad's staying to inspect the facilities prior to a special forces team arriving."

She heard the words, but they didn't make sense beyond, "They're coming this weekend."

"Yes." Scott sounded hesitant now, as though he weren't sure what to expect.

"Terrific." She knew it was sarcastic, didn't care. They hadn't really talked about the phone sex and his parents, and her emotions still felt raw and exposed. "How are you going to introduce me? The woman who gives great phone sex when you're not listening in?"

"No." His voice was even, and for an instant, she hated that about him, hated that he could remain calm no matter what situation he faced. "I intend to introduce you as Dr. Jean Grey."

"Right, I forgot. They already know about the phone sex. Are you trying to embarrass me?" She and Scott still hadn't resolved that particular issue, and now he was bringing his parents here, to her, where she'd have no choice but to face the general and his wife.

"I'm trying to earn the X-Men some legitimacy." His voice was still calm, but now it carried more authority than it had. "That's the most important thing here, Jean. The Joint Chiefs want a security inspection before they take a tour, and some special forces teams want to train with us. I'm not going to throw this chance away because you're embarrassed."

"I'm not asking you to throw it away." She spoke more harshly than she'd intended, frustrated that he didn't seem to understand or care how she felt.

"Then what are you asking me?"

"I'm asking --" she stopped, floundered for a moment. She hadn't expected that question. "I'm asking for more time, to get used to the idea of meeting them. Time for them to get used to me being more than just a sexy voice on the radio."

"How long do you need for that?" Still he was calm. It just irritated her more.

"How do I know? I can't just turn off how I feel, Scott."

"And I can't put the Joint Chiefs off forever. Tell me how long you want, and we'll see."

"How long…?" Jean just shook her head, staring at him. "It doesn't work like that. I know you didn't mean what happened, but it did happen, and I can't just pretend it didn't the way you can."

"I'm not pretending it didn't happen." His voice had tightened, the only sign of his own irritation.

"Sounds like you are to me."

"Why? Because I'm putting the X-Men first?" He leaned forward, and if she could've seen his eyes behind his glasses, she would've bet they burned with intensity behind his power. "That's my job, Jean. I'm the X-Men's commander, remember?"

"You won't let me forget." The words were out before she thought, and she winced, knowing she couldn't take them back.

"I see." His tone had gone battle-cold.

"No, you don't. Scott -- I never said nor meant to imply the X-Men aren't important. But we are, too, aren't we?"

"I thought we were partners, on the same path." He stood. "But apparently I was wrong."

"Wrong? How wrong?" What was he saying? She hadn't seen him look that grim in a long time.

"How can we be partners if it's all about you?"

"It's not all about me," she protested.

"Isn't it? It was last Thursday after we got home from Alkali Lake, and it is now, too."

"I was hurt, in case you don't recall." She swiveled her chair around, exposing her still-bandaged ankle. His mouth thinned into an angry line.

"You weren't the only one."

"You were fine. I checked everyone on the team, and nobody else was hurt."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "A telepath should know that not all hurts are of the body." Then he pivoted, military straight, and started toward the door.

"Scott -- wait."

"Why? You didn't want to know then. Why now?"

She hated talking to the back of his head. "Because I want to help."

He looked over his shoulder, and not for the first time, Jean wished she could see his eyes behind the ruby glasses -- but she knew he wouldn't let her hold his power back again to let her look. "No, you don't. You want to feel better about this. I can't help you with that." He swallowed, but his voice was firm, resolute, when he added, "I'll still want a report on what Magneto gave you Friday, Phoenix."

"Scott --" She cast about for something to say, and his words from Friday morning came back to her. "You said you wouldn't walk away from me. From us."

"That was before I realized how little you care."


	14. Chapter 14

Scott wasn't surprised that all the other X-Men stared at him when he walked into the conference room for Jean's briefing. He was never late, after all, and today he forced himself to wait until five minutes after three before leaving his office. He hadn't seen Jean since Wednesday night, and he didn't want to be in the middle of a discussion with her when the others arrived.

"Sorry I'm late," was all he said as he took his seat. Jean frowned at him, but no one else saw it, focused as they were on him. Logan raised one eyebrow but otherwise didn't comment.

"You ready to start?" he asked Jean, who sat at the opposite end of the table from him. Normally, that would raise eyebrows, but her laptop rested on the table in front of her and the projection screen had been lowered. That she had some kind of presentation explained why she sat there instead of her usual place close to him.

"I did meet with Magneto last Saturday," she began.

"Why?" Logan asked. Scott could anticipate her answer.

"He used to teach here, with the professor," Jean said. "We weren't always enemies, and he asked as a favor to that friendship. Yes, it could've been a trap. Yes, I could've, and maybe should've, called the police or someone. But I didn't."

"What did he say?" Scott asked before Logan could argue the merits of her meeting with Magneto any further. That meeting was over and done, and now they needed to focus on the results of it.

"He reminded me of some research Worthington Laboratories did a year or so back. The research looked promising, but ultimately it led nowhere, and Worthington announced they'd misinterpreted early data, and that was the end of that." Jean lifted a small binder. "I have the early articles, still, if anyone cares. But Magneto told me they kept on that line of research and gave me copies of their unpublished results. I think we can all figure how he got that."

"What kind of research?" Scott asked.

Jean looked up to meet his gaze, and not for the first time Scott was grateful for the glasses shielding his eyes. He had no idea what she'd read in his gaze, only knew that it would be naked before her.

Her own gaze was -- compassionate? That was the best word he could think of. Compassionate, but also hesitant. "Mutant genetics."

"Narrow that down." The words came out a little more sharply than he'd intended, but her expression unsettled him.

She straightened in her seat. "They claimed to have found a way to enable mutants to control their powers. Completely."

Nothing else she could've said would've made the assembled X-Men react the way that did. Marie squealed -- literally squealed, and Logan winced at the piercing sound. Bobby looked dumbstruck. Kitty asked technical questions, and Ororo and Peter asked philosophical ones.

Scott sat still in his chair, absorbing what Jean had said, while the storm of questions and reactions swirled around him. _"Control their powers. Completely."_ It's what he'd always wanted, and not just because he'd blown out half of a wall when his powers had manifested.

He was just glad no one had died or been seriously hurt when it happened.

He'd spent months with his eyes closed by force of will, until Hank McCoy and Jean had brought him the first set of ruby quartz glasses. Seeing the world tinted red was a small price to pay for being able to see at all, and most of the time he truly believed that. But it was an external control on his powers, and he'd always wished for his own control, not the artificial control granted by an appliance.

Lately, that desire for control had become almost overwhelming. He knew exactly why, too. He'd just lost total control of himself and his powers -- more accurately, Stryker had taken what little control Scott had over his power and twisted it. Scott would never, ever forget what it felt like to attack Jean, trying to stop it, and not being able to. He'd never felt so helpless, so out of control, raging inside even as his hand moved to the controls of his visor and opened it wide.

Part of his mind registered Jean's simplified explanation of how the treatment worked, the diagrams and charts she projected for everyone to see, but the thought of control -- complete control -- thrummed inside him, a seductive beat.

Marie asked about side effects, and he focused his full attention on Jean as she answered, "Worthington didn't note any in their case files."

"Give it to me." Scott's simple words brought the rest of the X-Men to silence. It must have sounded like a rash decision to them, he realized. But he'd heard and processed Jean's explanations at the gut level, where he made all his decisions, and knew it was the right one for him. Whatever happened.

"Just because Worthington didn't note any side effects doesn't mean there aren't any," Jean said.

"I know." His conviction to take this treatment grew. "But we'll have to test it sometime. And unless you've got mutant guinea pigs in your lab, you'll need a subject. I'm the best choice."

"Marie --" Bobby began, but Scott shook his head.

"No." He gentled his voice, looked at Marie as he spoke. "Two reasons. First, this is untested, and Jean will correct me if I'm wrong, but you're not eighteen yet, so your parents would have to give their consent."

Marie's eyes widened, and Scott knew she hadn't thought of that.

Logan snorted. "Like we're so good at following rules."

Scott glared at Logan. Even if he had broken up with Jean, he still had to protect her professional credentials. "We adapt rules where we need to because we're mutants. Breaking this one could cost Jean her medical license, her professional reputation, everything she's worked for. Anyone not eighteen will have parental consent, or they won't get the treatment."

"Assuming it works," Jean said quietly.

"Assuming it works," Scott agreed. Then he looked at Marie. "I know you want this, badly, but some rules we don't bend."

Marie swallowed, obviously disappointed, but nodded. "Guess I need to call my parents. I mean, if it works for you."

"What's the other reason?" Bobby asked, not yet willing to drop the subject.

Scott looked at each of the X-Men in turn before saying, "I won't ask any of you to do anything I'm not willing to do."

Oddly, it was Logan's acceptance he looked for. Ororo's suggestion that Logan take over as his second in command had stuck with him since she made it. Whatever his personal feelings about the other man, Scott had seen at once that Logan had combat experience and solid instincts that Ororo didn't have. And since Logan had chosen to stay with the team rather than leave, Scott had to admit that he'd taken the team concept to heart. However reluctantly, Scott was coming to trust that Logan could be the second that he needed.

Logan nodded, once. "Can't argue with that." The others nodded, with varying degrees of acceptance.

Scott gave a mental cheer behind tight shields, and looked back up at Jean. "It's just a shot, right?"

Jean tried to keep her expression neutral, but she couldn't keep concern from her voice when she said, "For all practical purposes, yes. The compound is injected in liquid form, obviously, as a containment precaution. It's piggy-backed onto a virus that seeks out certain receptors and makes somatic modifications to the defective X-genes in them."

"How long does it take?" Scott asked.

"Theoretically, based on Worthington's notes, within about four to six hours after injection, you should see improvement."

"Any preparation? Should I be fasting?"

"No, but I will want baseline readings before you get the injection."

Scott glanced at his PDA. "I'll be there at five thirty."

Peter looked up. "Are you still coming to the Danger Room session at eight?"

"Absolutely. You might join us, Logan," he added. "You can see what the Danger Room's really like."

"Can't wait." There was some sarcasm in the tone, but Logan's grin belied his anticipation.

- - - - -

"You're not wearing your uniform?"

Logan turned from where he leaned against the Danger Room door at Peter's question. "Think I'll need it?"

Peter grinned. "It's not a cakewalk in there."

"Doesn't mean I need body armor. You either, for that matter," he added, as Peter shifted to his armored form.

"You should get used to fighting in it," Scott said as he came up, Bobby in his wake. "Special forces types train in full uniform and gear just for that reason."

"We're not special forces," Logan pointed out.

"In a way, we are," Scott said. "Mutant special forces." He nodded to Kitty and Marie as they arrived. "And we'll be training with regular special forces in a couple of weeks. Some of them saw a video clip of one of our training sessions and want to try it."

"Sounds like fun," Logan muttered. He understood Scott's reasoning for allying the X-Men with the government, but he'd never be comfortable with it, not after what government people, however rogue they may've been, had done to him.

Scott clapped him on the shoulder. "Think of it this way -- they'll have their asses kicked for a change."

Logan couldn't help chuckling. "Handed to 'em on a platter, you mean." Then he frowned.

Scott had taken the shot several hours ago, and something seemed off about him now. Logan sniffed unobtrusively. A hint of Jean overlay Scott's own natural scent and that damn aftershave, which made sense because they'd had to be close for her to inject him. But under that, Scott smelled normal, and that bothered Logan. If this compound changed people at the cellular level, shouldn't they smell different?

"With roasted potatoes and a nice cabernet. Ready?" Scott glanced at the younger X-Men.

"Does it matter?" Peter asked with a grin.

"No," Logan and Scott chorused. Logan traded an amused glance with the younger man, then followed him into the Danger Room -- and had to forcibly stop himself from staring.

He'd seen the grid that normally lined the room. He'd seen the interior of Liberty Island that Scott had created. Neither of those prepared him for the South American ruin that greeted him now.

"Defensive fortress?" he asked.

"Partly that, partly just a city," Scott said. "I based the design off the ruins at Machu Picchu in Peru."

"It can't actually hurt you, can it? I mean, if you fall?" Marie sounded nervous.

"You won't fall," Bobby reassured her.

"What's the objective?" Logan asked.

Scott grinned as the door slid shut behind them. "Survive."

Logan snorted. "Shouldn't be hard."

Half an hour later, Logan had to admit that he'd been wrong. They'd stepped into the ruins proper and what he assumed were Inca warriors had appeared from the ruins. Individually, none of them were a problem, but there were dozens. Hundreds. The exercise was for the benefit of the younger X-Men, so he and Scott were taking more of a supporting role than normal, following Peter's lead.

He'd fallen into step with Scott almost instinctively when he realized Scott had chosen hand to hand combat over his optic blasts. He'd seen Scott fight a few of the Multiple Man's duplicates hand to hand, but hadn't been able to observe the other man's skill or technique in that particular battle. Now, positioned at Scott's side, Logan had to admit that the other man was good.

Not as good as he was, of course, he amended silently as he sliced through an Inca warrior. But for a guy with no mutant agility or strength or speed, Scott was good. Logan frowned momentarily as Scott wobbled on one foot as he kicked an opponent. The ground beneath them was stable and dry -- how could Scott have lost his balance?

The press of bodies separated him from Scott, but not before he caught a whiff of... sweat?

Of course Scott was sweating, given the fight, but there was something odd about the scent of that sweat. He'd have to work his way back to Scott for a better sniff before he could figure out what, if anything, was wrong. That wouldn't be easy, not with Inca warriors swarming him. He just grinned and dove into the fight. These warriors weren't just holographic projections, they had mass and resistance just like real people. They even bled when he sliced them with his claws. This Danger Room thing was fun.

He fell into familiar combat rhythm -- slice, pivot, punch, lunge, stab. This, he knew.

"What's the matter, Cyclops? Jungle fever?" Bobby's voice through the comlink caught his attention. Bobby had scoffed when Scott passed those around, and Logan told him just to wait until they were fighting, when he'd know why those comlinks were needed. Logan chuckled at the question, wondered what pithy retort Scott would have.

No retort came, and Logan grabbed the warrior he'd just clawed, using the body as a shield while he pivoted to face Scott. Scott stood surrounded by Inca warriors, and though he still fought, Logan saw that he kept himself upright only with effort. He inhaled deeply, grunted when another warrior got past his guard and stabbed his left leg, and winced at the acrid stench, so unlike what he normally scented from Scott.

Then he saw Scott miss an easy, open, kick to another opponent, and Scott fell.

"Guess it was jungle fever," Bobby quipped.

Had Scott chosen to take himself out of the fight to make it harder for the younger X-Men? If so, he'd chosen a lousy way to do it, Logan thought, angry that Scott hadn't even warned him it was a possibility.

Then he remembered Scott's reaction when he'd accused him of throwing like a girl. Scott had thrown the next items harder, certainly to prove him wrong. There was no way Scott would take himself out of a fight with jungle fever. He'd go down under a dozen warriors' blades. He'd let someone get the drop on him from behind -- maybe. But he wouldn't drop from jungle fever.

"End program," Logan ordered through the comlink, and two warriors slammed into him from opposite sides. "End program, dammit!"

That Scott didn't countermand the order just confirmed that something was wrong. Why wasn't the damned computer shutting down?

"It won't respond to that," Peter said through the comlink. "You have to give it the code phrase."

"What's the code phrase?" Logan kicked one of the warriors off him, sliced at another, trying to get to Scott.

"Peppermint oysters," Peter answered, and the ruins faded.

Logan scrambled toward Scott, and only then did the others realize Scott was still down. Even from ten feet away, he could tell that Scott's body temperature, higher than normal at the best of times, had skyrocketed. "Scott -- you okay?"

Scott lay motionless on the floor, and now Logan could see that he was shivering. He pressed his fingers to Scott's throat, felt a rapid pulse. "Colossus -- get him to the infirmary. I'll call Jean."

- - - - -

_Jean. You're needed in the infirmary._

Jean started at the professor's mental call. It wasn't often that he simply barged into her mind like that.

"What's wrong?" Ororo asked. Jean had spent the last two nights, since Scott had left her, with Ororo. She'd have to go back to the room she'd shared with Scott eventually, if only to get her personal things, but she hadn't been able to face that just yet.

"Medical emergency." Her cell phone rang. She didn't recognize the number, was already halfway to Ororo's door when she answered. "Jean Grey."

"Jeannie, get down to medical, now."

"I'm on my way," she said. "The professor called. What happened?"

Logan's voice held concern and compassion. "Scott collapsed in the Danger Room. He's got high fever and chills, rapid pulse. Peter's taking him to the infirmary now."

"I'll meet him there." She snapped her phone closed. Fear trumped the vestiges of pain from her ankle as she ran for the stairs. _Scott collapsed in the Danger Room._

She vaulted the railing, used her telekinesis to cushion her fall, and ran for the elevator to the lower level.

_High fever_, Logan had said. She knew the risks that meant, from dehydration to brain damage if the fever was high enough long enough, even complete circulatory collapse leading to death. Her resolve steeled. Scott couldn't die, she wouldn't let him.

The elevator crept down to the basement. Why couldn't she have Kitty's phasing power? If she could phase, she'd already be on the lower level, running toward the infirmary proper.

Thankfully, no one was stupid or clumsy enough to be standing in the door to the infirmary when the elevator finally opened.

Scott lay on a table, his armor open -- a part of her mind noted that Logan hadn't cut it off him -- and Logan was securing a set of Scott's night goggles around his head.

"Kitty, phase his uniform off." Jean forced herself not to react to Scott's pallor, nor the sweat beading down his temples.

"What?" Kitty squeaked.

"You heard me. Now." Jean grabbed the sphygmomanometer and strapped the cuff around Scott's arm.

She vaguely heard Kitty muttering something about not needing to see Cyclops naked, but a moment later, Kitty was folding the uniform and setting it aside. The thermometer she stuck to Scott's forehead needed a minute to work, but just in touching him when she applied it, she could tell he was feverish. Oh, his body temperature ran warmer than "normal" all the time as a result of his power, but this….

The thermometer dinged and she read off the result. One hundred and five was not good, even for Scott.

"Stand still, everyone." She concentrated a moment, and the IV tower, bag of saline solution, surgical tray, hospital gown, and leads moved across the room and into their proper positions.

"Anyone have a small table fan?" She asked as she wrapped the elastic around Scott's arm to insert the IV needle.

"I can cool him down," Bobby said.

"Can you make it just lukewarm around him? Or cool the air?"

"How about a block of ice under the table?"

"That's a start. Don't freeze any of the tubes or wires in it." Jean started the saline drip as Bobby formed ice beneath the table. She knew what to do, how to treat a fever, had done it a thousand times. Why was she nervous this time?

_Because it's Scott._

She took a deep breath, cursing herself for giving Terry, the school nurse, the day off. If Terry were here, she'd step aside and let Terry take over the treatment, but there was no one else qualified at the school, so it was up to her.

Two hours later, she shooed the other X-Men out of the infirmary. "Nothing to do now but wait and watch."

"We can do that, too," Marie said.

Jean smiled at her. "I know. But I want to stay these first few hours, just in case anything changes. I'd rather not lose the time it'll take to get down here."

"You'll call one of us to relieve you, right?" Peter asked. "Don't wear yourself out."

"I won't." Jean watched the others leave, then turned back to the table where Scott lay, almost bumping into Logan as she did. "Sorry."

"What's wrong, Jeannie?"

"He's got a fever, and I don't know why. There's nothing in Worthington's notes to --"

"Not what I meant." He cut her off before she could babble too much -- and she had been about to babble. Treating the fever was easy. Figuring out why he had it wasn't.

"Then what did you mean?" She didn't try to keep the irritation from her voice. He was keeping her from diving back into the notes she'd gotten from Magneto, trying to find what had gone wrong.

"What's wrong between you two?"

"What makes you think something's wrong between us?"

"You mean besides your pulse jumping just now?" Logan stepped closer. "I haven't smelled you on him -- or him on you -- in a couple days. Something's wrong."

Jean felt her face flood with heat. "It's not like we have sex every day."

"Not even sex. You haven't touched him in two days. What's going on?"

"He --" She stopped. Should she tell him? If she did, would he push even harder than he had before? And was she ready to deal with it if he did? She sighed. "We're -- having difficulties, yes." It was the safest answer she could think of. "I've been staying with Ororo."

Logan's eyes narrowed, and for a moment she thought he was going to press for details, but she felt him decide not to. "You need me for anything, even just to listen, I'm here."

She was tempted, oh, she was tempted to ask for a hug, but she knew if she did she'd feel the psychic echoes of his attraction for her. No, call it what it was, desire. And she wasn't ready for that.

"Thanks," she said finally.

He watched her for another moment, then said, "Peter's right. Call one of us when you need a break."

He didn't wait for an answer, just stepped around her and out the door, and she was finally, terribly, alone with Scott.

Training reigned while she checked his blood pressure and temperature again, noted them in his chart. He still burned, his fever hovering near a hundred and five, despite the ice block that chilled her just to stand near it.

She sent his chart floating to the surgical table and, though it wouldn't tell her anything she didn't already know, rested her hand on his forehead.

"Dammit, Scott, you had no right to do this to me."

The words startled her. The anger behind them startled her even more, and in that instant, her shields wavered. His own were completely down, and she found herself touching his mind without entirely willing it.

She shied away, instinctively. She'd never wanted to read a delirious mind, had always kept her shields tighter than she normally did whenever she was around feverish or mentally ill patients. But this was Scott, and his mind was as familiar to her as her own, and she cautiously allowed the link to remain and, gradually, deepen.

She'd never seen his mind like this before. Where normally his thoughts ran like dominoes falling, each one leading into the next, now they were jumbled like those same dominoes at the start of a game. Memories from his childhood -- the brother he never spoke to anymore, his father taking him on his first plane ride -- jumbled with more recent memories of the school and the X-Men. Dreams danced in and out of the memories and sometimes jumbled with them so she couldn't tell which were which.

Seeing his memories brought back her own, and she couldn't help smiling when she remembered the first time they'd met. He was seventeen, and she was home from college over summer break. His powers had manifested a month before at a high school dance. He'd blown out half the wall in the bathrooms and hadn't heard news of whether anyone had been injured or killed.

He hadn't known anything about telepathy then, and his emotions had flooded her. Fear at what he'd done, what he could do, determination to keep his eyes closed forever if he had to, and that terrifying uncertainty as to whether he was a murderer or not thrummed in her own consciousness until she could barely concentrate on helping Hank McCoy design the first set of glasses for Scott.

Finally, she'd made some calls, pretended to be Scott's treating physician -- not too much off the truth, she thought with grim amusement, other than the timing -- and gotten answers. The relief he'd felt when she told him no one had been injured was palpable, almost a physical wave hitting her, along with a determination never to injure anyone with his powers accidentally.

She'd never sensed such a determination before, certainly not in someone so young. Not, of course, that she was that much older than he was, but six years made a lot more difference at twenty-three and seventeen than it did at thirty-two and twenty-six.

And then when Hank had finally finished the first set of ruby quartz glasses, Scott had put them on, outside, where it was safer if he opened his eyes, and laughed with sheer joy when they'd been effective at dispersing the beams from his eyes so he could see again. He'd looked at Hank and then her and said simply, "Thank you." But she'd felt the relief behind the words, relief that he wasn't dangerous now.

Beneath her hand, Scott's head moved side to side. He tried to talk, but she couldn't understand the words, so instead she focused on what he saw in his mind's eye.

The jumble of memories had settled into what seemed to be a continuous-play loop, the same moment, over and over.

He was looking straight at her. His hand lifted to the control on his visor, opened it. All the while, his mind screamed _No no no!_

She knew the moment, it had come in Alkali Dam, when, thanks to Stryker's mind-control drug, he'd been forced to attack her, to defend Stryker.

She started when the realization hit her, and she sank to the floor beside his bed, not caring that she sat in a small puddle of melting ice.

He'd lost that control he so desperately craved, then, had it ripped from him by a man with no scruples, no qualms about ordering Scott to do whatever he wanted. That "whatever" had been trying to kill her.

_Not all hurts are physical._ His words came back to her. Had he even given any indication that he was hurt, or had he counted on her telepathy to alert her? It shamed her to remember that he had said something. Oh, not directly, Scott would never admit to a hurt directly, but he'd protested that it was, in fact, him hurting her when she'd said it wasn't. She'd known Stryker had controlled him, so it wasn't _really_ him. It was that simple. To her.

To Scott, there was so much more behind it, and she hadn't pursued it. Not when he said something, not later that night, not even the next morning. God, no wonder he thought she didn't care.

"I do care, Scott." She stood, using the grab-bars on Scott's bed to help her avoid slipping on the melted ice. "I've been lousy at letting you know, but I do care. And I'll make sure you know."


	15. Chapter 15

Thanks for all the encouraging reviews! Life's been busy, so I haven't had a chance to respond individually, but know that they make my week.

X X X X X

By eight o'clock Saturday morning, Scott's fever had dropped a degree. A hundred and four was still hot, but at least he was out of the danger zone.

The infirmary had never been neater. Between checks of Scott's temperature and blood pressure, Jean had spent the night inventorying everything in all of the cabinets, mopping up as Bobby's giant ice cube melted, and waiting for her slacks to dry. Thankfully, lab coats covered a multitude of sins and bare legs.

It had been years since she'd pulled an all-night shift, and she'd kept moving to keep awake, and to keep her mind occupied. His awful parting words kept coming back, the more awful for the truth they contained.

_That was before I realized how little you care._

She'd resolved to make sure he knew how much she did care, but it shamed her that he'd doubted. While she was busy, she could force herself not to confront her shame, her own responsibility for his perceptions. Sooner or later, she'd have no choice.

"How is he?"

Jean jumped at the soft question. She must be tired if she hadn't sensed the newcomer's arrival. "He's… better. Callisto? Is that right?"

The dark-haired woman nodded as she crossed to Scott's bedside. "I heard people talking at breakfast. They said he's in bad shape."

"He'll get better." He had to. She had too much to make up for. "As far as I can tell, it's just a fever."

Callisto looked up at her. "If he just needs to be watched, I'll sit with him for a while. You look exhausted."

Jean smiled. "That's very kind of you."

"He was kind to me when I arrived. What do I need to do?"

"Note the readings from the monitor in his chart." Jean showed her where and how to make the notation. "Every half hour."

"I can do that. And I think my handwriting's neater than yours."

Jean laughed aloud. "Well, I am a doctor." Callisto chuckled along with her. "I'll just check his IV and then I'll go."

Checking his IV turned into changing it. And then checking his temperature again. And then making sure the leads were still attached to his skin.

Callisto watched patiently for ten minutes, which was five minutes longer than Jean would've tolerated, before she took Jean's arm and tugged her toward the door. "Go. Get some rest. You need to be alert in case anything changes."

Jean knew the other woman was right. It didn't stop her from taking a last look over her shoulder before she left. "Call if anything changes. For better or worse."

"I'll call. I promise. Go."

She rode the elevator and climbed the stairs to the second floor in a fog of fatigue. This early on a Saturday morning, none of the students would be awake, so it wasn't likely that she'd run into anyone else.

Only when she sat on the edge of the bed, her shoes kicked off, did she realize that she'd come instinctively back to the room she'd shared with Scott rather than to Ororo's room. She really should leave, not invade this space that wasn't really hers anymore, but she was here, and tired, and already had her shoes off, and, dammit, she just needed to be here where his scent lingered and she could try to convince herself that any minute now, he'd walk through the door and smile when he saw her.

She pulled her shirt and slacks off, then slid under the covers. As she'd done so many nights when Scott had been busy enough that he slept in his office, she pulled his pillow close and rested her head on it, inhaling deeply. His aftershave lingered, as did the scent that was just Scott.

The pillow wasn't nearly as comfortable as his body, but it would have to do.

"Get better, Scott," she whispered.

- - - - -

Jean slept well, but not long, and by noon she was awake and starting toward the kitchen. A shower and change of clothes had refreshed her almost as much as the nap. After a quick meal, she'd be ready to return to her vigil at Scott's bedside.

Soft sobbing and a sense of despair made her pause outside Marie's door. Jean lingered for a moment, unsure whether to intrude or not. She noticed the door stood ever so slightly ajar, and that decided her.

She knocked on the door. "Marie? It's Jean. Are you okay?"

Hasty sniffles. "Yes." Marie's psychic sense said otherwise.

"Then why are you crying?" Jean asked quietly. Marie didn't answer, and after a moment, Jean pushed the door further open. "Marie?"

Marie sat on her bed facing out the window over the grounds. Her shoulders weren't as straight as Jean was used to seeing them, and when she turned to look over her shoulder at Jean, Jean saw that her eyes were red and puffy, and her cheeks were still damp with tears.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Instinctively, Jean crossed the room to sit next to Marie. Marie hadn't invited her inside, but her heart broke to see the young woman crying.

"No, not hurt." Marie took a shuddering breath. "It's stupid, really -- if I cried over every disappointment in my life, I'd never be good for anything."

"What did Bobby do now?"

Marie chuckled, weak and short, but a chuckle. "He didn't do anything. This time."

When she didn't continue, Jean said, "So who did?"

"Nobody did anything." Marie's voice got steadier the longer she talked. "But -- when you told us about the control serum, I was so happy. I could have a normal life again. And now -- Cyclops -- is he going to die?"

"Not if I can help it." Jean pulled her into a hug. "He's just having a reaction to it, that's all. And he's already getting better."

"Will everyone have that reaction?" Marie sounded skeptical.

"I don't think so," Jean said.

"But you don't know."

"No. I don't know."

"I guess I have a lot to think about, then."

Jean hugged her closer, but before she could speak, her cell phone rang. Keeping one arm around Marie, she opened the phone. "Jean Grey."

"Dr. Grey, you have visitors at reception." Carolyn's voice was the last one she expected to hear on Saturday at noon. Did the receptionist ever take a day off?

"Visitors? Who?"

"Christopher and Katherine Summers."

Oh, God. Scott's parents. "I'll be right there." She snapped the phone shut. "I'm sorry, I need to go."

Marie just nodded, and Jean hugged her again before she started for the ground floor reception area.

Why were his parents here? Had Charles called them? And then she remembered -- in the moments before Scott's parting words, he'd told her his father was coming on business. Apparently, his mother had decided to come as well. That meant they didn't know his condition, because Carolyn would never reveal information like that without authorization.

She'd have to tell them. She'd have to brace for their reaction. They'd expected to come here and spend a weekend with their son, not be told he lay unconscious, feverish, and possibly delirious.

She took a few cleansing, steadying breaths as she approached the reception area and the two people standing near the window. Scott's father stood military straight with short graying hair. His mother appeared more relaxed, though even from this distance, Jean could sense their unease.

"General Summers? Mrs. Summers? I'm Jean Grey."

"Scott's mentioned you," the general responded and held out his hand. "I'm surprised he's not available, though. He knew we were coming."

Jean shook his hand, then his wife's. Finding the words was never easy. "I'm afraid I have news for you."

"How bad is it?" Katherine Summers radiated a moment's sheer dread, though her expression was mostly calm.

"Not as bad as you think," Jean assured her. "If you'll come with me, you can see him." She sent a mental alert to Charles, letting him know she was escorting visitors to the basement infirmary and who those visitors were, even as she led them to the concealed elevators.

The general had as much a poker face as Scott, but still she picked up his surprise at the elevators. Then even as he registered surprise, she felt him accepting it. _Have to have some kind of training facility,_ he was thinking, _and underground is more secret than most._

Neither of Scott's parents pressed her for details as she led them to the infirmary, though she sensed their questions when they saw how well appointed it was. "There's a traditional nurse's office upstairs," she said. "The infirmary is for… our other activities."

"And you can handle the trauma surgery, right?" General Summers asked. Like his son, he focused on practicalities as a distraction, Jean thought.

"Yes, sir. Through here." She led them into the infirmary, and Callisto straightened from where she mopped up part of the melting ice block.

Callisto glanced from Jean to their visitors, but Jean's nod apparently both reassured her and gave her permission to speak plainly. "Bobby came down and offered to rebuild the block, but I told him that was your decision. I would've called you then, but look at this."

Jean took Scott's chart from Callisto and breathed a small sigh of relief as she scanned the entries for the last few hours. Scott's fever appeared to be dropping slowly but steadily.

"Thank you," she told the other woman. "Will you tell Bobby I don't think we'll need more ice?"

Callisto nodded and took the hint to leave Jean alone with the others.

"He's not normally this warm, is he?" Scott's mother asked. "When he was younger, his temperature was normally around a hundred even."

"That's normal for him now, too," Jean said. "He's having a reaction to a shot I gave him last night."

"What kind of shot?" Katherine's voice had gone protective and the general frowned at her from where he stood at Scott's other side.

"A serum that, in theory, will give him complete control of his powers." Jean felt surprise from both of them, and explained briefly the events of the day before.

Katherine stroked Scott's forehead, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "He'd risk anything to be able to control his power."

"We weren't expecting this, though," Jean said. "Nothing in the research suggested this kind of reaction."

His parents exchanged a glance. Then the general said, "You know about the accident he had when he was ten, right?"

"When he fell off his bicycle? Yes."

The general's voice was rough when he continued, "You may not know that he was unconscious for a day or so. The doctors suspected brain damage."

Jean felt her mouth going dry. "What happened?"

Scott's mother shrugged. "They found a small bruise on his brain, but there weren't any obvious after-effects, so the doctors decided it was on a part of the brain that's not really used for much."

"Except, maybe, controlling his mutant ability," Jean said, certain of the intuitive flash she'd just had.

"How's he doing?" Logan's question made them all jump, and Jean turned to where he'd come in.

"Better, his fever's down some. And I need to do an MRI and a CAT scan on him." Jean started unhooking the IV from its stand. "General Summers, Mrs. Summers, this is Logan, the newest member of our team."

She let Logan take over polite conversation with Scott's parents while she finished getting Scott ready for the exams.

"Need help, Jeannie?"

"No, thanks," Jean answered without looking up. She'd pushed Scott's bed away from the ice using her telekinesis only to steady the movement on the sometime slippery floor.

"Then I'm taking the general to the Danger Room," Logan said. "Figure we can get some of the business out of the way, so it'll be one less thing on Scott's mind when he wakes up."

Jean turned back from where she was aligning Scott's gurney with the bed for the MRI. "He'll appreciate that. Thank you."

"I'll bring him back in one piece." Logan grinned at her and Scott's mother, then escorted the general out.

Katherine Summers chuckled quietly. "Typical."

"Pardon?" Jean concentrated, used her telekinesis to move Scott from his gurney to the MRI bed.

"I guess you get used to that."

"Sorry -- it's efficient. But at least I don't feel like I need to show it off like I did when I was younger. What did you mean, typical?"

"Oh, none of the Summers men like to show what they're feeling. Not Chris, not Scott or Alex, not even Chris's dad, when he was alive. You have to figure it out for yourself."

Jean had to chuckle. "So it's hereditary."

"Very." Katherine Summers stood back while Jean finished her preparations, and Jean was grateful. Too many times well-meaning, concerned relatives did nothing but get in the way. "Don't think Chris doesn't care about Scott. If anything, he cares too much."

Jean started the MRI scan. "I know he cares, Mrs. Summers. I know both of you do."

"Katherine, please. I'm only used to 'Mrs. Summers' coming from people in uniform." Jean laughed with her. "It hurt Chris to see Scott like this, knowing there's nothing he can do. So he took the first excuse he could to distract himself."

"And he focused on work, just like Scott does."

"But you make sure he doesn't work too much, right?"

Jean couldn't help the sigh. "I tried. I'm not sure how successful I was."

Katherine came over to give her an impulsive hug. "Keep trying. He needs it, just like Chris does."

"He doesn't want me to." Jean returned the hug, then focused on the readings in front of her. "He -- we broke up last week."

"That's -- sudden. He didn't say anything about troubles at dinner the other night."

"It's my fault. I screwed up, and he left." Jean surprised herself with the honesty. More surprising still was that admitting it didn't hurt as much as she'd expected it to.

"Can you fix it?"

"I don't know. But I'm going to try."

"Good."

"Good?" Jean shut the MRI off.

"Good," Katherine repeated. "He looked so happy when he talked about you. I'd like him to be happy. Whatever happens."

_So would I, _Jean thought. _I hope he can be happy with me._


	16. Chapter 16

This chapter… Scott recovers. I still don't own him or any of the others, though if I ever win the lottery, I might consider buying them….

X X X X X

"What do you think, General?" Logan asked as he escorted Scott's father back to the infirmary after the demonstration of the Danger Room.

"I think that's an impressive piece of equipment, that Danger Room. No chance on selling us the specs, I take it."

Logan chuckled. "You'll have to ask Scott, General. The room started as a safe place for the kids to learn to use and control their powers. Then Scott got hold of it and started tinkering."

"Sounds like him." Logan heard the affection in the other man's voice, quickly controlled, and had to grin. Like father, like son. "But 'General' gets old. You can call me Corsair."

"Corsair? Your handle when you flew?"

Summers raised an eyebrow. "You're military?"

"Not anymore." It was the best answer he could give.

"Retired at your age?" The tone was one of dry humor, but Logan knew the question was serious. If the general were much like his son, he'd expect a serious answer, too. The truth, or a part of it, seemed safest.

"These --" he extended the claws from his left hand --"soured me on military life."

"I can see how they would." Unlike most people, Summers wasn't impressed by the claws. Then again, Logan thought as he retracted the claws, given what Scott could do, that made sense.

As they stepped into the infirmary itself, Logan paused. Something was different. He listened past the greeting Summers gave his wife and Jean, focused on the softer, subtler sounds.

He heard the low hum of the ventilation system and the even lower thrum of the machines hooked to Scott, and winced when one of those machines beeped. All of that was normal, but -- he grinned. Scott's heartbeat had changed. And then he heard a ragged breath that turned into a cough.

The others heard it, too, and Logan gave Scott's parents credit for staying out of Jean's way as she hurried to Scott's side and checked the various readouts.

"His fever's broken, finally." There was no mistaking the relief in Jean's voice. She and Scott might be having difficulties, whatever the hell that meant, but she was still glad he'd recovered.

Of course, Logan thought, very privately, so was he. Not that he'd ever admit it to Scott. Or Jean.

Scott coughed again, and his head turned toward Jean. His mouth moved for a moment, but no sound came out. He closed his mouth and swallowed. When he spoke, his voice held the rasp of someone with a very dry mouth and throat. "Jean? … The Danger Room --"

"You collapsed in the middle of the scenario." Jean kept her voice calm and steady, probably something they taught all doctors, Logan thought, so as not to alarm their patients. "You've been unconscious and running a high fever for almost a full day."

Katherine Summers brought a cup of water to Scott's side, offered him the bent straw.

He grimaced at her, but sipped. "I remember feeling dizzy, trying to fight."

"Bobby thought you had jungle fever," Logan said, drawing Scott's attention to him.

Corsair snorted. "Take more than jungle fever to bring down a Summers."

"I wasn't planning to greet you like this," Scott said, and Logan suppressed a grin. If he could joke, he'd be fine.

"As long as you'll be all right." His mother glanced at Jean where she stood making notes in Scott's chart.

"He's too stubborn to stay sick for long. But," she shifted slightly so that she addressed Scott directly, "you're still a little feverish."

Scott groaned. "How long?"

"At least until morning." Jean snapped his chart closed. "Don't make me strap you down."

"We'll make sure he stays in bed as long as you tell him to," Katherine said.

"Traitor," Scott muttered, but he was grinning.

"I'm not going to ask you how many fingers I'm holding up," Jean said. "But how are you feeling otherwise?"

Scott was quiet for a long moment, and Logan noted the subtle shift in Jean's posture that indicated she was anxious at the delay.

Then Scott smiled. Logan had never seen him wear that particular expression before. He'd seen the wry grin after he'd called Scott a dick. He'd seen the small smile he gave Jean when she came into a room. He'd seen the approving smile he gave students when they got something right.

But he'd never seen Scott smile for pure joy.

"I feel -- normal." Scott reached up and pulled his goggles off. Logan couldn't help tensing, knowing what Scott's blasts were capable of doing.

But no blasts came. No swath of angry red force crumbled the infirmary. Instead, Logan found himself looking at blue eyes in Scott's naked face.

With a cry, Katherine threw her arms around her son. The general just nodded, but Logan thought he scented a hint of salt around the other man's eyes. Jean stood a little apart from the Summers family, her arms crossed over her chest, but she was smiling.

Katherine straightened, and for a moment Scott's gaze locked with Jean's. At any other time, Logan would've sworn they'd just communicated telepathically, but now he couldn't be sure.

"You still have the blasts, right?" Jean asked, and Logan had to give her credit for remaining outwardly calm, even if her pulse had jumped.

Scott nodded, and bent his head over the goggles he held so there was barely an inch of space between his eyes and the goggles. There were the red beams of force, contained in the goggles. Even so, Scott didn't leave them on long enough to pose a risk, just the few seconds it took for the others to realize they were there.

"So you'll be ready to play with the Incas again soon as Jeannie lets you out of here?" Logan asked.

Scott tossed the goggles onto the medical tray near his gurney. "Damn straight."

"Do I get to watch?" the general asked. "I've seen your team in action. Would like to see you."

"You've seen the team?" Scott's pleasure at his father's request turned to surprise.

"I showed him while you were out," Logan said. "Storm led the kids through a defensive exercise. Whose idea was the giant robots, anyway?"

"You did know General Trask was kidding about those, right?" the general asked.

Scott's frown at his father was deeper than the question deserved, Logan thought. He'd hear what Scott really thought of that adventure when the general wasn't in the room. "Trask needs a better sense of humor. But Kitty had fun programming them."

"Trask is Army. They don't have a sense of humor."

Logan raised an eyebrow at the general's observation. "No offense, Corsair, but from where I stand none of you military types have a sense of humor."

"The Army is the worst," the general replied, and Logan chuckled.

"All right," Jean said, "even though he looks fine and is fairly cranky, he's still not recovered."

"I'm not cranky," Scott protested, but in the tone of a man who knew the protest would go unheeded.

Jean ignored that. "Logan, out. Katherine, if you'll keep an eye on his temperature and call me if anything changes, I'll bring some real food back for all of you."

"I'll help you carry it," Logan offered.

She raised an eyebrow. "I am a telekinetic, remember?"

Her tone said she was joking, and Scott's expression darkened. So whatever "having difficulties" meant, Scott still didn't like him. As long as it didn't affect the team's performance, he could deal with that.

- - - - -

Magneto didn't bother to check who was calling when his cellular phone rang. Only one person had that particular number. "Yes?"

"Grey re-engineered the control serum."

"I had no doubt that she would. Has he taken it?"

"There was a problem. He ran a very high fever for almost a day."

"Is he recovered?" If Cyclops weren't available, the whole plan would have to be scrapped. Magneto found himself holding his breath while he waited for Callisto's answer.

"Grey kept him an extra night in the infirmary, but released him today. She wouldn't have released him if she thought there was a problem."

"And what do you think?"

"I think he just needs to find out what he can do now."

"Excellent. We'll have to arrange a suitable test. Keep me informed." He disconnected without waiting for her reply and allowed himself a small smile. Things were proceeding perfectly.

- - - - -

Scott stretched when he straightened from kneeling in the cockpit of the Blackbird. He'd been crouched there for nearly an hour, unfastening and removing the tags he'd inserted years before. He ran his thumb over the Braille lettering on the steel tag he held. No more than a quarter inch wide and three quarters of an inch long, it told him that it had been attached to the Blackbird's mother board. Dozens of similar tags with similar labels rested in a clear plastic box on the pilot's seat, and he added the last one to it before snapping the lid shut and turning toward the ramp.

He'd spent a day making the tags when they got the first Blackbird, and another half day attaching them. Ororo had teased him about it but understood when he'd told her that it meant he still had a chance at repairing things if he lost his visor.

Those months he'd spent blind, keeping his eyes closed through force of will, had taught him not to take his sight for granted ever again. The box of tags in his hand was tangible evidence that he'd learned that lesson well. That he intended to put the box in his uniform locker against the day the tags might be needed again only confirmed the lesson.

The door to the locker room opened as he arrived, and Peter almost bumped into him. "Sorry."

"In uniform? What's going on?" Scott asked.

"Danger Room exercise," Peter said. "Impromptu -- me, Logan, Bobby, Kitty. Care to join us?"

"Give me two minutes to change." He hadn't been in the Danger Room since Friday night. A day spent unconscious had left him feeling sluggish, even though his fever had faded and Jean said she couldn't find anything else wrong with him. A Danger Room workout was just what he needed.

He zipped the uniform and paused before closing the locker. His combat visor rested on the top shelf, and he was tempted to leave it. Then he grimaced. Just because he could turn the power off and on didn't mean that he didn't need the direction and intensity control the visor offered. He grabbed the visor and jogged to the Danger Room.

"Thirty seconds late." Peter grinned at him when he stepped inside.

"Forgot this." Scott settled the visor in place.

"Thought you didn't need it anymore," Logan said from where he leaned against the wall beside the door.

"It'll still give precision to the blasts. I generally don't go around blasting holes in buildings."

"Aside from the train station." Leave it to Logan to bring that up. At least this time, Scott had a ready comeback.

"That might mean something if it weren't coming from the man who cut off part of Lady Liberty's crown."

Bobby snickered, and Scott saw Logan's expression shift as he straightened and joined the rest of them. "So what the hell kind of kill phrase is 'peppermint oysters' anyway?"

"It's something nobody in his right mind would say accidentally," Kitty said.

Logan shot her a withering glance. "More to the point, one's a stimulant and one's an aphrodisiac," he said. "Got problems, there, Cyclops?" He leaned in closer. "That why Jeannie left you?"

Later, Scott would understand that it was just the combined stress of the X-Men's first battle, the new direction he was taking the team, his confrontation with Charles, his breakup with Jean, and his experiences as Stryker's captive that led him to throw the punch. Right now, all he felt was anger.

The anger focused in his fist, and he drove it into Logan's solar plexus.

Logan wasn't expecting the blow, staggered back a few steps from the impact. Scott barely had time to take a proper balanced stance before Logan recovered and counter attacked.

_At least he didn't pop the claws._

Scott blocked the first strike, felt the second graze his ribs as he turned to dodge a half second too late. It wasn't a friendly blow, but then, his punch hadn't been, either.

Punch, block, parry, kick. It was a dance he'd been studying since he was a child of six, so long he didn't have to think about the moves anymore. Which was good, because Logan wasn't giving him time to think.

Any other time, this would be part of a training circuit. Or just fun, Scott admitted. As it was, Logan was barely pulling his punches enough that this bout qualified as sparring instead of a free-for-all.

Scott sidestepped a kick, caught Logan's leg, and brought his elbow down on the other man's thigh. Logan winced and wrenched his leg free. The strike should have given him a limp, but Logan stood centered again even as Scott pressed the attack.

_Damn healing factor._

As though he read the thought, Logan smiled, a predator's smile, the one Scott figured he smiled every time he saw an opponent realize that he wasn't quite normal. But twenty years of training and skill counted for something, too. Even if Scott were ultimately going to lose, he'd make the other man work for the win.

"Sorry you turned your power off now?" Logan aimed a rabbit punch at Scott's throat, and Scott blocked it, even as he ducked aside and struck for Logan's kidney.

"Be glad it's not on," Scott countered around gasps for breath. "See how well you heal if I used it."

Scott's breath whuffed out of his lungs when Logan landed on top of him. Jean had theorized that the adamantium added twenty to twenty-five kilos to Logan's natural weight, depending on the exact thickness of the coating. In either case, Scott had to fight to get his breath back as the other man pinned his arms and held him down.

"Sa'matter, Cyclops? Can't open your eye?"

Even with Logan's weight pressing on his chest, he could twist his head to one side and catch the visor on one of the seams on the shoulder of his uniform. A quick jerk of his head and the visor popped off.

Scott saw Logan's surprise even as he felt the power pressure building behind his eyes. He didn't bother to hide his grin as ruby beams burst out of him, catching Logan squarely in the chest and throwing him the length of the Danger Room. He hit the far wall with a satisfying if hollow-sounding thud.

The force of the blasts kept Logan pinned to the wall. Scott saw his bared teeth, clenching, but he didn't cry out. _Of course not,_ Scott thought. _I wouldn't, either._

After a moment to drive the point home, Scott turned off the power. He was on his feet a second after Logan hit the floor. "For the record, I left her."

Logan just sprawled there, and Scott heard his panting breaths.

"Logan?" Scott stepped forward, concern in his question. He reached Logan's side a half step before Kitty, Peter, and Bobby.

Only as he knelt beside Logan did he see the faint wisps of smoke, smell charred flesh that was already healing.

"Christ," Logan muttered, and Scott let out a relieved breath. He could talk, so he'd be fine. "Didn't know it burns."

"It doesn't," Kitty said into the silence. "It's just a force-beam, not heat generating, even though it looks like it should burn. I measured it once, for a science project."

"That," Logan said, touching the edge of the hole in the chest of his uniform, "is burned."

Scott felt the others' eyes on him, and he had no answers, only one looming question. _What have I done?_


	17. Chapter 17

And today I finished Chapter Seventeen of the sequel to this story. Coincidence? You be the judge. ;)

_Supplementary Angles_ is cooking along nicely at 55,000 words or so, and if all goes as planned, I'll start posting it a week or two after I finish posting this one.

Thanks to everyone for sticking with _Complementary Angles._ I'm glad you're enjoying it!

(And, as usual, don't own them, just borrowing them.)

X X X X X

Twenty minutes of hot shower later, Scott had finally stopped shaking.

He shut off the water and stood there, his hand on the lever, letting the water drip down his body. The question echoed in his mind. _What have I done?_

For years, he'd prided himself on never hurting anyone with his power without intending to, and until a few months ago, on never causing unintentional damage to property. Now, the first time he'd used his power since he'd taken the control serum, he'd almost killed a teammate. He would have killed a teammate, if it had been anyone other than Logan.

Scott straightened. So the serum had done something other than give him control. It had mutated his power. He could deal with that. He'd study it, practice it, learn it, master it.

He grabbed a towel from the rack, wrapped it around his waist and stepped out into the locker room proper. Some antiseptic on the scrapes he'd gotten in the brawl, and he could get dressed for the rest of his day. Probably a good thing he didn't have any conferences with parents scheduled this afternoon, he mused. They'd be horrified, and somehow he didn't think that saying he had a fight with one of the other instructors would go over well.

Scott pulled the antiseptic and cotton pads from the cabinet and moved over to stand at one of the sinks and checked in the mirror for cuts or scrapes that needed to be swabbed. One at his temple, probably from when he yanked the visor off, caught his eye and he dabbed at it with the dampened cotton.

His memory flitted to the telepathic touch Jean had sent when he'd taken his goggles off the first time. _I'm so happy for you_, she'd said with the mental equivalent of a hug and a kiss on his cheek.

He'd felt her sincerity in the link -- she truly was happy that he had control of his power. For a moment, he'd believed that she cared, and that they could get back the closeness they'd had.

It was a moment's fancy, and he knew it. She didn't care, and maybe she never really had. That thought hurt, but like so many other hurts in his life, he'd get past the pain and on with his life.

He returned the antiseptic to the cabinet, and when he closed it, he saw Logan, still in uniform, reflected in the mirrored door. He saw his own surprised expression in the mirror before he turned to face the other man, unsure what to expect.

"We good?" Logan asked.

That was the question, wasn't it? He thought he'd gotten closer to trusting Logan, but then he'd gone and stuck himself into his relationship with Jean. Again. Still. It would likely always be an issue, but maybe it could be less now that he wasn't with Jean. "Good enough," he said finally.

Logan nodded once, then offered his hand. Logan had refused to shake his hand when they'd been introduced in the professor's office. That he offered his hand now was a pleasant surprise -- and it told Scott more than any words could that Logan had chosen the team over his lone wolf tendencies.

Scott extended his own hand, not at all surprised that Logan had a firm grip. Even if his skeleton weren't coated with adamantium, Scott would expect no less.

The handshake done, Scott stepped over to his locker and opened it. Logan leaned against the end of the row of lockers, in that way that said he still wanted to talk but wasn't going to watch Scott getting dressed while he did.

"If Ro's heart were with the team, she'd show up for more of the impromptu practice sessions."

Scott pulled his underwear on. "She's more interested in the school. Always has been."

"You need someone whose heart is fully with the team."

Was he volunteering? "I'm used to making do with what I have."

"You have me." Scott could almost hear the _If you want me_ that Logan would never say aloud.

Scott finished buttoning his shirt and reached for his trousers. "You're not running off again?"

"I found what I needed."

Which could mean a lot of things, Scott mused, but he chose to address only the surface meaning. He pulled the trousers on and zipped them before turning to face Logan squarely. "You've got a chance."

"That's all anyone can ask."

"You might as well undress again." His father's voice came from behind Logan, and Scott craned his neck to look past Logan.

"Why?"

"Got a call," his father said. "Your team's needed."

"Sit rep?" Scott asked and yanked his shirt out of his pants.

"Mutant calling himself Juggernaut. Nothing they've tried has even slowed him down," his father said. "He punched through the soft count room at the Monaco casino in Las Vegas and snatched millions in cash. They've tried shooting him, blocking his way with tanks, nothing's working."

Scott thought quickly, glanced at Logan. "You, me, and Jean?"

"Peter?"

"Chemistry exam."

Logan swore. "How long until the kids graduate?"

"Two months," Scott replied. "Call Jean. Can you warm up the Blackbird?"

A quick shake of his head. "I'm not a pilot."

"I'll do it," his father said. "They want me to observe, anyway. On site."

"In the Blackbird," Scott said. "Out of the line of fire."

"You're in charge. I can follow orders." His father grinned at him.

"What are you standing here for?" Scott grinned back, but couldn't quite get past the odd sensation of giving his father orders. He knew he had to think of his father as just another member of the team. Right. In the same way Jean was just another woman.

It would be a minor miracle if he survived this mission with his sanity intact.

- - - - -

"What is it," Jean from the seat behind Scott, "with mutant criminals and robbing banks? First Madrox, now this Juggernaut character."

"They're crooks," Logan said. "You don't think they're going to get a job like normal people, do you?"

She rolled her eyes at him, and he chuckled.

"Makes me wonder," Scott muttered.

"Wonder what?" Logan asked. He'd been surprised when Scott gave him the chance to be his second in command, but he wasn't going to waste it.

Scott glanced back at him. "Jean's right. We go for years without significant mutant criminal activity -- not counting Liberty Island, that was terrorist activity -- and now two bank robberies in two weeks. That's a lot of money. Where's it going?"

From his place in the co-pilot's seat, Corsair said, "You don't think they're just looking to live lives of the idle rich?"

"Not with this timing," Logan said, picking up Scott's thought. "It's almost like they're coordinated."

"Magneto?" Jean asked.

"Maybe," Scott said. "But why? He's got bigger goals than money."

"That machine he used at Liberty Island had to be paid for somehow," Logan observed. "Unless he just raised the raw materials from the earth and shaped it with his power. But he'd still have to pay for the power generator or the controls."

"Something to think about," Scott agreed. "How close are we?"

"He's running north on US 93, toward Tonopah," Corsair said. Logan heard the grimace in his voice. "That's someplace we don't want him to get to."

"Why not?" Jean asked.

"Too close to some sensitive areas for comfort."

"All right," Scott said. "We'll set down a couple of miles north and wait for him. Jean, you can do the same thing you did to Madrox, right?"

"I should be able to," she said.

"Good enough. There he is," Scott added and pointed out the cockpit window. He banked the Blackbird and brought it down for a smoother landing than the one he'd made at Liberty Island.

"Nevada Highway Patrol's got the road cleared this side of Tonopah," Corsair said while the X-Men rose from their seats.

"Take her back up as soon as we're on the ground," Scott said. "If it goes badly, get out of here."

"Roger that. I'll circle the area and coordinate with the local yokels."

Logan had to chuckle at Corsair's phrasing even as he jogged down the ramp with Scott and Jean. The ramp closed behind him and he squinted against the exhaust as the Blackbird lifted away.

"You ever feel superfluous?" Logan asked Scott casually. "With her here, I mean." He jerked his head toward Jean.

Scott just chuckled, and Jean raised an eyebrow. "I can't do everything," she said.

"Telepathy's just hard to defend against," Scott said.

Logan felt a slight vibration in the highway. "He's getting closer. Must set off seismographs in three states."

"Take him down when you can," Scott ordered. Jean nodded, squinting against the desert sun while they waited for Juggernaut to come into sight.

"There he is," Logan said, barely able to see the spec at the horizon.

"I don't see him yet," Jean said. Then, several heartbeats later, "Now I do."

"What's the range on your telepathy?" Logan asked.

"Nowhere near the professor's." Logan wondered how it was that she was still beautiful when she frowned in concentration. After a moment, she said, "I can't read him at all."

It was Logan's turn to frown. "Not at all?"

"All I get is static. It's like --" she turned to Scott. "It's like he's wearing Magneto's helmet."

Scott scowled. "Too many telepathy-blockers. First Magneto, then Stryker, now this Juggernaut."

"And Mystique," Jean added. "She had glasses that blocked me."

"How busy is Hank?" Scott asked.

"Who's Hank?" Logan demanded.

"I don't know," Jean said. "I can call him when we get back."

"I will," Scott said. "I have another question for him, too. Can you TK him?"

"I'll try."

"Who's Hank?" Logan repeated.

"Hank McCoy," Scott said. "Old friend, former student of the professor's. Scientist and diplomat."

"Odd combination."

"Wait 'til you meet him."

"Scott --" Jean's voice sounded strained. "I'm pushing as hard as I did at Alkali Lake, and he's still coming."

"Trip him," Scott suggested.

Another few heartbeats passed before Jean shook her head. "It's not working. I even grabbed some dirt from the side of the road to fling into his eyes. Nothing's working."

"These'll stop him." Logan extended his claws and glanced at Scott for confirmation. Juggernaut didn't run at super speed like Callisto, but he was closing fast.

Scott nodded, once, and Logan strode forward. Now that he could see Juggernaut more clearly, Logan saw that he wore an armored helmet bolted to some kind of metal chestplate. But there was still a fair amount of flesh exposed. And Juggernaut's pants appeared to be cloth, though his boots were also armored.

"Try to levitate that helmet off him, Jeannie," Logan said. His claws itched for the fight, but he was part of a team now -- no, he was deputy commander -- and he had to think of all their assets and strategies.

"Tried to. No luck." Her voice came through the comlink he wore.

All right, then, the team needed him. He wouldn't let them down. And why did he glance to his side as though expecting someone to be there?

Best to meet him on the run, Logan thought, and ran toward Juggernaut. Step aside and slice bare flesh at the last second seemed like a sound strategy.

And then he saw that Juggernaut had dropped the bags he carried and now ran at what Logan assumed had to be his full-out speed. _Well, shit. This is gonna hurt._

- - - - -

Scott winced when Juggernaut and Logan collided, the squishy thud of their impact resounding across the empty highway. Beside him, Jean bit her lower lip. Logan might heal, but they both knew he felt pain just like anyone else.

The impact sent Logan staggering back, and Juggernaut kept coming. From this angle, Scott couldn't follow the fight with any accuracy. He saw Logan slice, and Juggernaut punch, heard their grunts and gasps for breath, but details eluded him.

Then Logan fell, and Scott saw the flash of sun off claws as Logan sliced at Juggernaut's tendons. It was a suicide fall, and Scott guessed that Logan intended to let Juggernaut run over him, counting on the sliced tendons to end the fight for good. It was a good enough plan, Scott thought. In theory.

In practice, Logan fell, and Juggernaut's armored boots -- this close, Scott could see them clearly -- slowed Logan's claws. Juggernaut didn't fall.

"Dammit," Scott muttered. He felt more than saw Jean's silent nod of agreement.

Logan tried to get to his feet, but Juggernaut kicked him, and moments later, Scott felt dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. Logan wasn't fighting back.

"Scott," Jean said, "Logan's out."

This wasn't how Scott had wanted to test his new power, but he had no choice. "I'm going to distract him," he told Jean. "When you can, pull Logan out of there with your telekinesis."

"Distract him? How?"

Scott didn't answer as he dialed the setting on his visor down. He didn't want to hit Logan with the blast, after all.

The visor opened, and a narrow ruby beam hit the pavement just on Juggernaut's far side, away from Logan.

Juggernaut paused in his attack to stare at Scott.

"How'd you like that?" Scott taunted. "More where that came from."

Juggernaut kicked Logan one last time in the head, then started toward Scott at a jog. Scott felt the impact of each step.

"Get Logan and get away," Scott ordered.

"Scott --"

"_Now._" He shoved her away with one hand, then opened the visor again, this time aiming directly at Juggernaut's chest.

"Hey," Juggernaut called, "that tickles." And kept coming.

Scott swore mentally. The visor was still at its narrow opening, and he dialed it up quickly. That intensity slowed Juggernaut, but he kept coming.

Scott was fast running out of curses. He had the visor open all the way, and still Juggernaut kept coming. Like his Indian namesake, it seemed no power on Earth could stop him.

_We'll see about that._ Scott kept the intensity of his beam where it was until he saw Logan float aside, out of the path of both Juggernaut and his blasts. Then he ripped the visor off and focused all his concentration on stopping Juggernaut where he stood.

For long moments, Juggernaut kept coming at the same speed he had been, and Scott wondered what it would feel like to have his bones crushed. Then he felt the power shifting behind his eyes as he willed it to full.

Before the control serum, he'd compared full to how a fire hose must feel as nine hundred pounds per square inch of water rushed through it. Now, full felt as though all of Niagara Falls were channeled through that same fire hose.

Finally, Juggernaut slowed, and appeared to struggle to make forward progress. Scott wouldn't count it a victory until Juggernaut was down. He realized he'd been holding his breath, exhaled sharply, and felt the power shift again. Now it felt like winds howled from his eyes as well as force. The strangeness of the sensation distracted him momentarily -- he blinked, and Juggernaut sped up again.

Scott scowled and refocused his energy. Juggernaut slowed again, almost immediately. Slowly, inevitably, Juggernaut staggered back.

"Fall, damn you," Scott whispered through clenched teeth. "Fall."

He did.

Scott willed the power off and fell to his knees, panting, barely registering Jean's voice as she spoke with his father in the Blackbird, coordinating the restraint and transport of Juggernaut. He'd never let his power just burn through him like that before, and his body apparently wasn't used to that stress. For just a few minutes, he let himself kneel there, recovering. Then he staggered to his feet, made his way to where Logan still lay on the ground. He was awake, though bleary-eyed.

"Guess you're not superfluous after all," Logan muttered. Scott laughed weakly, hoping his body would acclimate to his increased power.


	18. Chapter 18

Still don't own them, etc.

No lengthy notes for a while, as I have to study for a professional certification exam in a couple of months, but I do appreciate everyone who reads and reviews. Thank you so very much.

X X X X X

She couldn't put it off any longer. She'd put in the request for a new room assignment when they'd returned from capturing Juggernaut -- even though she and Ororo had been friends for years, Jean couldn't impose on that friendship any longer. Now, a day later, the new room was ready, she had to go back to the room she'd shared with Scott and retrieve her things.

At least Scott wasn't likely to be there at three-thirty on a Tuesday afternoon. They hadn't been alone together since he'd left her, and she wasn't sure what she'd say when they were alone again, despite rehearsing that meeting dozens of times in her mind and almost going to his office twice a day since he'd left. So much for practice making perfect.

She paused in the doorway, suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of when she'd moved in with him five years before. Neither Ororo nor the professor had said anything, but even with her telepathy as erratic as it was then, she'd picked up their concerns. She couldn't blame them, really. She was half a dozen years older than he, for one, and they were both driven and dedicated to their work. It could easily have been a recipe for disaster, but they'd proven the professor and Ororo wrong by making it work. Until recently.

Jean took a breath. Standing here remembering wasn't getting her things packed. And just how was she supposed to decide which things were hers and which were his? Clothes, obviously -- she had to suppress a smile at the image of a cross-dressing Scott. He'd worn a dress, once, for Halloween -- a blue silk cocktail dress that had looked surprisingly good on him. Red face paint and horns completed his "Devil with a Blue Dress" outfit. Somewhere, she still had photos from that party.

She'd need to use both suitcases to move her clothes, but one of them should stay with him after the move. She pulled them from the back of the closet, laid them open on the bed. They were a matched pair, so it didn't matter which one stayed with Scott. Telekinesis made packing easier than it should be for this occasion. Drawers opened and stacks of folded shirts, underwear, and slacks floated across the room to settle into one of the open suitcases.

Next came her business clothes. Jackets and skirts filled half of the second suitcase. She'd never had many clothes, never had either a need or room to store very many. Shoes came next, sensible nurse's shoes for long days in the lab. Sneakers for the daily runs that she'd been missing thanks to her injured ankle. One pair of pumps and one pair of strappy sandals finished her collection, such as it was.

That finished the easy part. The hard part included photos and the few pieces of art they'd bought over the years. She'd have to ask him about them.

The door opened and she flinched. Think of the devil and he appears.

"Hi." He sounded surprised.

Jean turned to face him. "Hi. I wasn't expecting you -- I thought I'd get my things."

"I took Mom and Dad to the airport," he explained. "They were supposed to go back yesterday, but we were busy."

Busy fighting Juggernaut in Nevada. And, Jean suspected, Katherine Summers had wanted to be sure her son was truly recovered before she left.

"I like them," she said as if it still mattered, and he nodded but didn't speak. Neither of his parents had made her feel uncomfortable by word or look or even thought, which surprised her until she realized that they were too worried about Scott to care about her, except in her professional capacity. At least at first, she amended. Then Katherine had said that Scott had sounded happy when he talked about her, which had given her a flash of hope -- until she remembered that he'd spoken with them before he left. Which brought her here, now.

"I won't be much longer," Jean said when the silence threatened to press down too much. "And I'll bring back one of the suitcases. Do you mind if I take the lovers print?"

"You always liked that one better than I did." It was the first one they'd bought together, a celebration of their taking the next step by moving in together.

Jean levitated the print down from the wall, leaned it against the bed. She'd need to dust the frame before re-hanging it. "What about photos?"

He crossed to the small refrigerator in the tiny corner kitchenette and pulled out a diet soda. Sure, the school provided meals, but that didn't mean they didn't occasionally want to eat alone. "I've got them scanned in. You can take the prints."

It was so like Scott to have scanned in the photos he liked -- the ones they'd gotten from others. Their own were digital to start with. Even so, his words felt like a slap in the face.

She took a breath. All the rehearsing, all the almost-visits had gelled into this moment. And the only words she could find were, "I'm sorry, Scott."

"Sorry? For what?" He took a too-casual swallow of the soda.

"For making you think I don't care for you. For making you think I don't love you."

He just nodded, his expression tight. But his eyes, oh, his eyes. Thanks to the ruby quartz glasses, he hadn't had to practice keeping his emotions out of his eyes for many years, and now those emotions showed clearly. She could read them better than she could read his shielded mind at the moment. Hurt, anger, and disappointment shone in his eyes. Oddly, the combination sparked her own anger.

"Just tell me one thing." She spoke deliberately, controlling that flash of anger.

"What's that?"

"How was I supposed to know you needed support? That night after Alkali Lake?"

Now his look was incredulous. "You're a telepath."

"And I don't go prying into anyone's mind. Even yours. You know that, Scott, you of all people know that." Her voice had risen half an octave by the end, and she snapped her mouth shut, swallowed. Emotional reactions didn't work with Scott, she knew. She had to be calm, even when part of her was screaming at her to slap him silly.

"I wasn't trying to hide it."

"Maybe you weren't, but you didn't tell me. Didn't want to tell me." _You were afraid to tell me._ The implication was there without her having to say the words aloud.

His jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. "We linked deeply that night. You didn't bother to look."

She stared at him, shocked into silence for several heartbeats. "You are _such_ a hypocrite."

That shocked him. "Hypocrite?"

"Hypocrite. I have never once pried into anything you wanted to keep from me -- including how you felt after Alkali Lake -- but the one time I tried to keep something from you, because I love you and I thought it would hurt you, you pressed and pressed until I told you anyway."

"That's totally different."

"Really." She let her tone convey her skepticism.

"You never hide from me. Of course I was curious."

"It went beyond curious. You pried. Even after I told you I didn't want to tell you yet." She shook her head. "God. I don't believe this."

"What?"

She looked him directly in the eyes. "In many ways, I've loved you since I met you. I lived with you for five years. It's hard to believe how little I really knew you in all that time."

"You know me better than anyone else." He sounded defensive, and she wondered at that. But now was not the time to ask him.

"If I really knew you that well, I would've already known you're a coward and a hypocrite."

The words hurt him. She read it in his eyes, felt it leaking past his shields. Right now, she didn't care.

"I'll see you at the run tomorrow morning." She gathered the suitcases and the print with her telekinesis and moved toward the door. She had to get away, get out, get to her room before the tears started.

- - - - -

Logan was about ready to climb the walls.

Nobody else seemed to notice, but in the week that Scott and Jean had been having difficulties -- he gave a mental snort at the phrase Jean had used -- the tension between them hummed louder than Scott's souped-up Harley. Oh, they spoke pleasantly enough to each other, but every time they were in the same room or even within sight of each other, Logan picked up the scent of arousal.

Like now, for instance. It was a typical lunch in the cafeteria, except that Scott sat with him and Peter, and Jean had taken a table by herself and sat reading a book Logan couldn't see the title of. All perfectly normal on the outside, except that Scott kept looking at Jean with longing in his eyes. And Logan would bet good money that Scott hadn't really heard Peter's description of Marie's progress at hand to hand training.

Peter, at least, had noticed Scott's inattention to his report, but didn't have the confidence yet to openly call Scott on it. Logan grinned. He'd call Scott on it -- it was part of his job.

"Thanks, Pete," he said, and the change from Peter's voice to his was enough to draw Scott's attention back to their table.

"Yes, thanks, Peter," Scott said, as though he'd understood every word. "Good job."

Logan made a subtle gesture, and Peter picked up on it. The younger man gathered his tray and stood. "See you later."

Scott watched Peter go, then glanced inquiringly at Logan.

"You gotta work on your poker face."

"Because we play so much poker?"

"Because you're too damn easy to read without your shades," he answered. He took a swallow of soda. "And you may have left her, but you still want her. So why not work things out?"

Scott turned back to his half-finished chicken. "I can't order her to work things out."

Logan had to chuckle. "Maybe not, but you can show her you're willing to, and see what happens."

Scott raised an eyebrow at him. "What, it's no fun if you're not trying to break up a couple?"

The tone may have been quiet, but the words were as heated as his optic blasts. Logan supposed he deserved more than that, and Scott deserved an honest answer. He hated honesty when it forced him to say things out loud. Especially things he hadn't quite figured out yet. Since his encounter with Yuriko, he'd been thinking more about her than about Jean, but he wasn't ready to talk about that yet. He finished the last of his soda, set the bottle down, and looked up at Scott.

"I thought she deserved someone with enough fire to match her own. Took me a while to see that's not what she needs." He toyed with the bottle. "Seeing the two of you apart made me realize she needs you."

"Really." He couldn't blame Scott for that skeptical tone.

"Beats me why she needs a straight-laced, control-freak preppie, but she does." If Scott made him explain more, he'd have to pound him.

"I see." The tone hadn't changed, but he wasn't pressing for more.

"So go talk to her," Logan prompted when Scott abandoned his chicken for the second time. At least this time he wasn't staring at Jean.

"She doesn't want me to."

The last word was rushed, as though he hadn't intended to add it at all. So the kid thought Jean didn't want him. Briefly, Logan wished for Jean's telepathy just long enough to satisfy his curiosity. Then he let the thought go. In an environment as closed as the school, he'd find out soon enough. Whatever had happened, though, they hadn't argued loudly enough for his keen hearing to pick it up.

"You must be a better tactician than I thought," Logan observed, "if you understand women. Didn't think there was a man alive who does."

That lured a grin to Scott's face. "I wouldn't say I understand women. But she made it clear she doesn't want me anymore."

Logan snorted, but withheld further comment while Scott couldn't help watching Jean rise and leave. He knew she hadn't heard their voices, but who knew what her telepathy had picked up?

"That look said she wants you." Scott just shook his head, and Logan stood. "Then don't bitch when she finds someone else. Because she will."

He gathered his dirty dishes to take them to the collection station on his way out of the dining room and wondered just when he'd become a relationship counselor.

- - - - -

Her telepathy hadn't picked up as much as Logan probably thought, Jean mused as she left the dining room. She'd heard bits and pieces from him, and almost nothing from Scott, which was becoming normal whenever they were in the same room. He knew that it would take effort from her to pick out his thoughts from among the students and staff, and also knew that she wouldn't make that effort without cause. From their first meeting, Charles had made sure she understood it was at best rude and at worst unethical to read minds without permission.

No, it wasn't the weight of Scott's or even Logan's thoughts that had sent her from the dining room. It was more the awareness of Scott's gaze on her. He wasn't broadcasting, but that didn't stop her from feeling his desire just like any woman would. He wanted her, still -- Logan was right about that, and that she still wanted him. But it would take more than honest desire to bring them back together for anything more than a night of passion when the desire grew too overwhelming and regrets and discomfort the morning after.

It was thoughts of the regrets and discomfort that had driven her to make some discreet inquiries among her professional colleagues about other positions that might be available. A school and team physician could be replaced a lot easier than a team commander.

She'd even considered contacting Worthington Laboratories to see if she could resurrect their control serum research. Scott had control of his power, now, but that power had also increased and shifted.

Would everyone who took the control serum have similar effects?

Jean stopped in her tracks, standing outside the game room, stunned. No, of course not everyone would have similar effects. If Scott's brain damage had caused his power to be stuck at 'on,' it could as easily have kept the power stuck at one level of manifestation. There was no way to test the theory, but it felt right. Right enough that she wanted to discuss it with the only other person she knew she could trust with the implications.

Despite it being still lunchtime, she pulled her cell phone from its case on her hip and punched in a number.

"McCoy."

"Hank, it's Jean."

"Jean! How are you?"

"I've got a theory I want your input on," she said, resuming her path to the elevators and the seclusion of her office. The kids in the game room didn't need to hear this just yet. "When do you have some time free?"

"Strange that you should call just now," he said. "Or perhaps not, given your abilities. I'm just now getting into a car at La Guardia. I'll be there in an hour or two."

"What's wrong?"

"I'll explain when I arrive. Will you inform Charles and the others? The entire team should hear this."

"You've piqued my curiosity," she said. "But we'll be ready for you."

- - - - -

Scott paused in the doorway to Jean's medical lab. Hank would be here in an hour or so, so he'd have to make this meeting quick. That didn't stop him from appreciating the way the light played off the angles of Jean's face as she looked into her microscope. She wasn't classically beautiful, but her face conveyed both strength and compassion at the same time. He'd always admired that combination, and had spent almost a full hour exploring her face with his fingertips once, just to memorize it.

"Are you going to come in?" She didn't look up from her work, but she seemed to know just who stood in her doorway.

"Didn't want to startle you." He shouldn't be surprised that she'd sensed his presence, not after spending so many years so close. He stepped into the lab, found a spot where he shouldn't be in the way. The "not in the way" spot varied visit to visit, depending on what research she was involved in at the time.

"What's up?" Her tone was light, more professional than friendly. He supposed he shouldn't expect anything else, not now.

"I need a professional opinion." He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, looked back at her. "I was just in the Danger Room."

She pulled the slide from the microscope, set it aside. "Alone?"

"I realized my power had changed before the fight with Juggernaut. I burned Logan's uniform off."

"You burned --? But your power's just force, not heat."

"It was," Scott emphasized. "Before."

"Before you took the control serum." He must've let his surprise show on his face, because she chuckled. "I was wondering something similar, earlier. If your brain damage had caused the power to be permanently stuck at on, maybe it also caused the power to be permanently stuck at one level."

"Maybe it also activated latent powers. Like the heat. Like the concussive force that finally brought Juggernaut down. Like --" he let out a breath. "The power's changed. I need to know how. I'd thought I could figure it out on my own." He shook his head.

"Which is why you went to the Danger Room," she said. "Let me guess -- progressively harder things to blast?"

"Right." He couldn't help smiling just a little. She knew how he thought, frequently thought along similar lines. But he sobered. "Nothing. Nothing useful, anyway. We'll need to refine the room's sensors and recorders for things like this."

"What do you need from me?"

"I'm hoping you can help -- did my DNA change, somehow, with that serum? If it did, what does the change mean for my power?"

"I'll need a sample," she said. "I took blood while you were feverish, but I was more concerned with checking the basics than doing genetic analysis."

He rolled his sleeve up above his elbow. "So you think it's possible that the serum did mess with my DNA?"

She gestured for him to follow her into the infirmary proper. "Mutant genetics is amazingly complex, even more so than regular genetics. Latest theory is that as much as half the population has latent mutations embedded in their DNA, probably among what until now has been considered junk material."

"Half?" Scott sat and extended his arm along the armrest. "But only about ten percent of the population have manifested mutations, right?"

"That's the best guess." She wrapped the tourniquet around his arm. "All those latent mutations don't mean anything without the X gene, the controller gene. There could be someone out there with latent mutations for, oh, Hank's acrobatic ability, my telepathy, Peter's strength, and some force blast like yours, all wrapped up in one person. But if that person doesn't also have the X gene, those abilities will never manifest."

"Are you trying to say that my head injury affected my X gene?" He frowned. "That doesn't make sense."

"No, I'm not saying that." She paused while she slipped the needle into his vein and adjusted the tube. "I'm just trying to get across that your questions about your powers may not have simple answers. If they even have answers. There's so much we don't know, it's hard to judge what might be the case any given time."

"It's possible the control serum, in affecting the X gene, affected some latent mutations I had, though?"

"Right. Or that those extra powers were somehow blocked from manifesting before, but they're not now. Raise your arm, put pressure on the site."

He pressed his fingers over the cotton she'd put at the needle entry site, lifted his arm above his head. "I need to know what those powers are. I almost killed Logan without meaning to, and when I stopped Juggernaut, it was --" he broke off, shook his head. "I don't have words."

She put the tube containing his blood aside. "The reason I told you all that was a background. I'll run an analysis on your DNA now as compared to before the control serum. But that probably won't answer your question."

"Why not?" He checked the insertion site. It wasn't actively bleeding, but she'd wrap a pressure bandage around it anyway.

"Because we don't know what particular combinations of genes relate to which powers yet. I can tell you which combinations weren't there before, if any, but as to what they mean, your guess is as good as mine. Probably better, since they're your powers."

Scott had to laugh. "But you're the geneticist."

She chuckled with him, and for a moment, it felt as though they were still together. "Seriously, though, given the nature of your powers, maybe you need a physicist instead of a geneticist. Know any?"

Scott's amusement faded. He did know a physicist, but one who would as happily punch him as help him.

- - - - -

Jean's joy at seeing her oldest friend again was muted by Hank's sober demeanor. Oh, he smiled when first she and then Ororo hugged him, and he was pleasantly surprised by Scott's control, and he had a word for each person he hadn't met before, but even without using her telepathy she could tell that it was simply that diplomatic courtesy that served him so well as Secretary of Mutant Affairs.

They gathered in the conservatory, since Charles's office was too small to accommodate six adults and four teenagers -- especially when one adult was Hank and one teenager was Peter.

"I've brought news that concerns all mutantkind," Hank began.

"Erik?" Charles asked. Jean knew he still didn't like admitting that they were effectively at war with his old friend, but his voice carried only concern.

"I only wish it were." Hank took a breath. "A mutant antibody has been developed. It suppresses X-genes. Permanently."

"The government involved?" Of course that was Logan's first concern.

"No. Or at least, my office hasn't been involved, and I've heard nothing from any other sources."

"Worthington Labs," Jean said. "Right?"

"You haven't been reading my mind, have you?" At least Hank was still able to joke, however weakly.

"I'd get lost in diplomatic pleasantries," Jean teased back. "But it makes sense, given the work they did on a control serum."

"But that failed," Hank said.

"No, it didn't. They lied." Scott straightened from where he'd dropped a hip on the teacher's desk that dominated the front of the room. "Their research is why I don't need the glasses anymore."

"Let me explain?" Jean asked. At Hank's nod, she touched his mind lightly, just enough to give him the story of the control serum. Telepathically, the transfer took only seconds. She felt him absorbing that as she withdrew.

"It may have been a different avenue of research," he said. "The source of the antibody is a boy -- a mutant with the power to suppress other mutants' abilities in proximity."

Jean wasn't prepared for the rush of emotions that came in the wake of that statement. Shock, outrage, and fury swept through her from all sides, and she had no choice but to slam her shields into place. Before she did, though, she caught an unexpected trace of -- guilt? She glanced at Scott, certain he was the source of the guilt, but his expression was carefully guarded.

His eyes told a different story, and she read the guilt clearly in them. He felt her gaze, met it for a brief moment, and then that stoic expression finally reached his eyes. For all anyone else could tell, now, both physically and psychically, he was a wall.

"You know what that means, Professor," he said. "Bad enough that they've found an antibody, but if word gets out that the source is another mutant, Magneto will act."

"How could word get out?" Bobby asked. "They don't have to reveal the source, do they?"

"Magneto's already had someone inside Worthington Labs," Scott said. "Otherwise, he couldn't have provided us what he did. We don't know what his source inside Worthington was -- Mystique or someone else -- so he could still have someone there."

"They're not making an official announcement until I inspect the facility," Hank said. "Perhaps that inspection will reveal something. Especially if a geneticist comes with me."

"A geneticist who also happens to be a telepath?" Scott asked, grinning slightly.

"Even so," Hank agreed.

"Don't forget the government," Logan said.

"The government's not always the enemy," Marie said quietly.

"Best to treat 'em as if they were," was Logan's advice. "That antibody can be turned into a weapon."

"Yes," Scott said, "it can. But right now we don't know enough to make a case for or against." Logan wanted to protest, but Scott didn't give him the chance. "Hank, Jean -- go do that inspection. We need as much information as you can get." He looked directly at Jean.

Jean swallowed, understanding his unspoken order, and nodded, once.

Scott turned to Charles. "Professor, find Magneto. If we're going to have to fight him, we need to know where he is and who's with him."

"He can block Cerebro," Charles said. "He's done it before."

"Then track St. John -- he left Alkali Lake with Magneto and might still be with him," Scott said. "And if that fails, we can ask Callisto how far her range is."

"I don't like trusting someone so new," Logan said.

"Worked for you, didn't it?" Scott's almost joking tone surprised Jean, and Logan just chuckled. "I understand your concerns," Scott assured him. "Both about Callisto and the government. Once we have more intel, I'll set up a meeting with them."

"Let me meet with 'em," Logan popped one set of claws. "I'll get the point across."

"Tempting," Scott said, "but let's save that as a last resort." He turned to Hank. "When were you planning to make that inspection?"

"I can leave any time," Hank said, then smiled. "They won't refuse a cabinet member even if I show up at midnight."

"Tomorrow's soon enough," Scott said. "Meantime, I could use your help with something in the lab."

"Of course." Hank said. Jean sensed that he welcomed an excuse to get back to his early work, before he'd decided that politics needed him more than engineering did.

"Kitty, too."

"Me?" Kitty didn't even try to hide the surprise in her voice.

"Yes, you," Scott said. "Redundant backups for everything. Logan, Ororo, pull together a Danger Room scenario including Magneto, Mystique, Juggernaut, Multiple Man, and St. J-- Pyro on the opposite side. Throw in a few other high level mutants with different abilities, too. If this comes to war, we'll be ready."


	19. Chapter 19

"Geoscience, Alex Summers."

"Alex, it's Scott. Don't hang up."

Scott half-expected his brother to hang up anyway. But the silence stretched without the distinctive click of a disconnection.

"Are Mom and Dad okay?"

"They're fine," Scott assured him, and cut off the inevitable questions with, "I was hoping to come see you tomorrow."

"Long way to come after all these years," Alex said. "It's not just to say hello and try to make up, is it?"

"No, it's not." He'd apologized before, in person and in writing. Alex hadn't wanted to hear it then, and he had no reason to believe anything had changed in those years that would make Alex more receptive.

"What do you want?"

"Your help." He took a breath, let it out while Alex processed that. "My powers have changed again, and I need to know how and what they're capable of now."

"I'd think you'd need a biologist or a geneticist for that."

"Not really. I've figured out already that their effect is best measured in a physics lab. I can give you the details when I get there."

"And you don't have a physics lab handy?"

Scott couldn't help chuckling. "I've got a genetics lab and engineering workshop available, but no physics lab. And no physicist that I trust even if I did."

"You trust me?"

"You're family," Scott said simply. Then, because he knew that wouldn't be enough for Alex, he added, "And once you hear what I want, I expect you'll be happy to help."

There was another pause, and then Alex said, "All right. I'll listen. When will you be here?"

"In time for lunch. I'll buy."

- - - - -

Jean had managed to deflect Hank's questions about Scott, tactful as they were, coming from a cabinet secretary, and he'd finally taken the hint and changed the subject for remainder of the flight out to San Francisco. Then they transferred to an executive helicopter for the hop over to Alcatraz Island, and she took that opportunity to still her mind and ready herself for this job.

She understood why Scott wanted her to eavesdrop on thoughts she'd pick up while here and follow up on any that sounded promising. This was preparation for war, as Scott said, and more, it was self-defense, as Logan had reminded them. That didn't mean she would enjoy doing it.

And she wouldn't. Not because it violated some ethical code; as the saying went, all's fair in love and war. No, she wouldn't enjoy this because, frankly, most people's thoughts ranged from boring to outright offensive. Only once in a great while did she find a thought worth the thinking -- there were only so many variations on sex fantasies and won-the-lottery daydreams, after all -- the rest were just like having a thousand someone else's radios turned up way too loud in public.

At least, she thought as the pilot brought the helicopter in for landing, Alcatraz had a smaller number of radios than New York.

One of those radios, a dark-haired woman probably fifteen years older than Jean, waited just outside the Worthington Laboratories Alcatraz Facility while the pilot shut the helicopter down. Even before the blades had stopped whirring, Hank was climbing down onto the island. He turned and offered Jean his hand to help her down. She took his hand, felt the relative calm of his thoughts lapping against her awareness, and steeled herself for the various handshakes she'd have no choice but to make.

Starting with that same dark-haired woman, who now approached. Her hair was pulled into a French twist that emphasized her cheekbones and she wore a white lab suit. "Mr. Secretary, how good of you to come. I'm Dr. Kavita Rao."

"Dr. Rao." Hank shook her hand. "My advisor, Dr. Jean Grey. She's a medical doctor and geneticist."

"A pleasure," Jean extended her hand.

"The pleasure is mine, Dr. Grey." Rao took her hand, and a wave of thoughts and emotions crashed into Jean's awareness.

Jean staggered a little under the impact.

"Dr. Grey?" Rao asked, concern etched in her features but not her mind.

"I'm fine," Jean said. "Just taking a moment to get my land legs back. I haven't ridden in a helicopter before." It was a flat-out lie, but it was guaranteed to gain sympathy, given Rao's fear of flying.

"I understand. I don't like flying, myself." Rao released her hand and gestured them toward the facility. "But this is the safest location we could find for the source of the cure."

"A young boy, is that correct?" Hank asked while Rao held the door for him and Jean.

Jean was grateful for his assumption of the discussion. It gave her a few moments to recover. She hadn't expected to hit the jackpot immediately, but Rao had been involved from the beginning, had in fact been the one to approach Worthington with the suggestion for funding the research. Jean would have to sort through all of Rao's memories to find the details, but at least she knew where to look, and she had a mental map of Rao's thought patterns that she could pass on to Charles if necessary.

"I assure you," Rao was saying as Jean's awareness returned to normal and she focused more on Rao than on the background radio noise in the corridors of the facility, "we are in full compliance with all of your department's policies."

_Policies?_ Jean sent to Hank. _What 'policies'?_

_Those relating to mutants who volunteer for research projects,_ Hank answered. _It's not as evil as it sounds._

_That's what you think_, Jean muttered mentally and dropped the contact.

"How long do you intend to keep the boy here?" Hank asked.

"Until we can fully map his DNA," Rao said. "Then we'll be able to synthesize the cure directly, rather than from his genetic material."

"I assume his parents have consented?" Jean asked. "And I would like to see his medical records as well."

"Those are confidential," Rao said. "And yes, his parents have consented."

"I believe the policy allows me to requisition any records at any time," Hank said. "And I would like Dr. Grey to examine the records and the boy. He is, after all, very precious, and we will take no chances with his health and safety."

Rao frowned, but nodded. "He is in here." She opened the door to a secured room with a magnetic card.

The door opened on a windowless white room. The only signs of color came from the video game system in the corner and a small shelf of books and toys. A bald boy sat in front of the game system, manipulating the controller with focused concentration.

"Jimmy, there's someone I'd like you to meet," Rao said.

Jean lingered in the doorway, listening with her telepathic sense, while Hank strode forward, his hand outstretched. "Hello, Jimmy, I'm Hank McCoy."

When he was about five feet from the boy, he stopped, and Jean felt his shock. Fur peeled back from his outstretched hand, and she saw only normal skin.

"I'm sorry," Jimmy said.

While Hank hastened to reassure the boy, Jean sought out Jimmy's thoughts. His sense told her he wasn't being mistreated, but he was tired of needles and having blood drawn.

"And this is Dr. Grey," Hank added, gesturing Jean forward.

She crossed the floor to take Jimmy's hand. She knew where the change should happen, and schooled her expression to a benign smile, even as the world went silent around her. "Hello, Jimmy. How're you doing?"

"Good," he said as he took her hand in a child's grip. "Are you gonna take my blood, too?"

Jean laughed. "Only if you want me to."

"No, thanks, Doc Kat does it all the time."

Jean knelt beside him. "I'm just here to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine. I just wish it wasn't so foggy all the time."

"It's San Francisco Bay," Jean said gently. "Fog comes with the territory."

"I guess."

Jean stood. "Thanks for letting us talk to you, Jimmy."

"Sure." He turned back to his video game, all right in his world again.

The onslaught of radio noise when she got out of Jimmy's range was welcome -- strange how she'd gotten accustomed to it, even on the days when it nearly overwhelmed her.

"Are you satisfied?" Rao asked when they were safely out of the room and Jimmy's hearing again.

"Pending a review of his chart, yes," Jean answered. "Secretary McCoy?"

"As long as your review is satisfactory," Hank said.

"You can review them in my office," Rao said. "This way."

- - - - -

Scott found the Gould-Simpson Building at the University of Arizona without difficulty. He'd parked his motorcycle in the garage two blocks away and walked the remaining distance. The Geoscience Department offices were on the ground floor, and he followed the signs until he found his brother's office.

Through the open door, he saw that Alex was talking to an attractive brown-haired woman -- honestly brown-haired, not brown because his ruby quartz glasses tinted everything he looked at -- and paused in the doorway. Alex glanced up and acknowledged his presence with a nod. Scott returned the nod and stepped to one side to wait.

He didn't expect his brother would be petty enough to make him wait long, and he was right.

"Thanks, Mr. Summers," the brunette said as she left his office.

"Any time, Christine." Alex watched her round the corner at the end of the hall, then turned to Scott. "Scott."

"Alex." He offered his hand, was only mildly surprised when Alex shook it.

"I'm not even going to ask how you made it out here from New York in only a couple of hours," Alex said.

"Had to be here in time for lunch. I said I'm buying."

"Not until after you tell me what you want." Alex gestured him into the office and he took the seat Christine had vacated.

"Fair enough." He'd rehearsed this enough on the flight to Tucson, and the words came easily now. "Years ago, Hank and I theorized that my optic blasts are related to solar energy, maybe something like the pressure of solar wind, intensified -- or close enough. Lately, my spectrum seems to have increased, perhaps even beyond visible light."

"And you can turn it off." Alex's tone was neutral.

"Yes." He wasn't going to explain just how the change in his power had come about. It would take too long and Alex wouldn't care. "What I need to know is how much of the spectrum my blasts cover now, and what outside forces might affect them adversely."

"What kind of outside forces?"

"Electro-magnetic fields, for one," Scott answered. "If my power is similar to solar energy, could it be affected the same way solar radiation is blocked by the Earth's magnetic fields, even indirectly?"

"And what makes you think the lab here can handle your blasts?" Alex asked. "They blew out a good chunk of the high school gym, remember."

"That's part of how they've changed. I'm not just stuck at one power level now. I can limit the intensity enough that you can take solid readings along the full spectrum that it covers."

"And I should be happy to help with this -- why?"

Scott grinned. "Because it can potentially give you a doctoral dissertation nobody else can get. Assuming Hank's and my theory is right, anyway." He sobered. "And --"

"And?" Alex prompted, suspicious, when he hesitated too long.

Scott met his gaze squarely. "And it'll give you potential ways to stop me, if it's ever needed." Briefly, he explained what Stryker had done to him. "We can't guarantee something like that won't happen again," he concluded. "I can guarantee that if it does, there's somebody who could stop me. That's why I need a physicist I can trust."

"It's been ten years. More. Are you sure you can trust me? I mean, what's to stop me from coming after you just because?"

It was a serious question, and Scott answered him seriously. "I don't think you're that petty and spiteful. I could be wrong, but I'd rather trust you than some nitwit academic."

"I'm well on my way to becoming a nitwit academic."

Scott had to laugh. "Never a nitwit, Alex. Unless you sniffed too much glue in your undergrad days."

"That was you with all your model kits," Alex grinned just a little. It was a good sign, Scott thought. "I just partied too much." He paused, his expression thoughtful. "All right. I'll do it. The baseline readings won't take long to measure at all, so we can do that after lunch. The rest -- how soon do you need it?"

"Sooner rather than later, but don't let it interfere with your classes."

"I wouldn't." Alex gave him the cockeyed grin he remembered from their boyhood, back when they had truly been as close as brothers. "So -- I get to pick the restaurant?"

"Unless you want fast food. I think I saw some of those on campus."

Alex winced. "No fast food, thanks. You still like Italian?"

"Hole in the wall places are the best."

"Lucky for you I know one not far from campus. We don't have to rush, and then I'll take those baseline readings."

"Thanks, Alex." Scott rose from his seat. "I owe you."

"I'll collect, don't worry."

X X X X X

Just as an aside, if I could actually make this into a movie, I'd try to cast Sam Elliott as General Summers and James Franco as Alex Summers. They have the same piercing blue eyes that James Marsden does, and I like to think that's a Summers family trait. (Either that, I'm a sucker for blue eyes like that. Take your pick - grin.)


	20. Chapter 20

They held an informal debriefing that night after Jean and Hank returned from San Francisco. Strange, Jean thought, that she felt so tired after two cross-country flights in a normal jet while travel in the Blackbird never bothered her. Now she sat with an oversized mug of coffee to help keep her alert during the meeting.

Scott looked even more tired than she felt, she noticed, but he appeared to be paying full attention to everything Hank said in his summary of their visit to Worthington Laboratories.

When Hank finished, it was her turn. "Jimmy appears to be fine, medically speaking. His parents agreed to let him live at the Alcatraz facility for up to two years and to allow Wortington to map his DNA. Everything appears to be completely legal in that regard."

"No surprise there," Scott said. "My concerns are for the boy's safety when word of this gets out. There are a few million mutants in this country alone, and not all of them are reasonable."

"The security is good," Jean said, "and their chief of security knows his work, or that's my impression." She knew Scott would understand the reference to her scans. "But he doesn't think in terms of securing against someone like us."

"Most people don't," Logan said.

Scott nodded agreement. "Hank, can you arrange a meeting with appropriate people? The X-Men can help with defending against mutant attacks."

"Of course," Hank agreed. "I'll make the calls first thing in the morning."

"And they're announcing this cure tomorrow, as well," Jean said. "They were just waiting on Hank's visit. Are we going to make a counter-announcement?"

"Like what? Being a mutant is all grand, so don't take the cure?"

Jean frowned at Logan's sarcasm. "No, about the control serum. Offer a choice."

"I don't see how you can," Hank said. "Not without exposing yourself to lawsuits right and left. And not without sufficient supplies of the serum to meet the demand."

"Hank's right." Scott's tone was firm, but the look he gave her was full of understanding. "We can't admit that we have it publicly, but maybe we can put some pressure on them privately to come up with alternatives to a permanent cure."

"I can certainly do that," Hank said. "And Jean, and possibly Charles. Letters to Worthington, a few strategic comments on talk shows and news broadcasts..." He fell silent, and Jean had to smile at the hum of his thoughts. Unlike Scott, Hank had to actively think about plans. Scott simply saw them intuitively. The difference in their thought patterns when planning was the difference between putting one foot in front of the other and leaping across a puddle.

"After you schedule the meeting," Scott reminded him, and Hank nodded. "That's it, then. Thanks."

The others rose to leave, and Jean lingered until she and Scott were the only ones left.

"Something on your mind?" he asked. His tone was wary, but not hostile.

"You look like you need someone to talk to. Or walk with," she amended. Scott wasn't the kind to sit and talk. He didn't sit much, period. He preferred to be moving, whether walking, riding his motorcycle, or flying. Or making love. She stopped that thought before it got to her face.

"You're volunteering?"

She didn't like the skeptical tone of his voice, but said only, "I am. Surprise you?"

"Yeah, a little." He must be tired if he'd admit that. "Why?"

Such a simple question. She tried to keep the answer simple, as well. "Because I love you."

The disbelief in his expression told her she wouldn't be able to get away with a simple answer

even before he said, "Really? I thought you didn't want to have anything to do with me."

"If I didn't want to have anything to do with you, I'd've left already." She leaned against the table facing him. "I hope we can work things out, because I don't want to throw away everything we've shared without a fight. But tonight's not about working things out. It's about you being exhausted and needing a friend. Walk around the lake?"

For a moment, she thought he'd refuse. Then he nodded, once, and stood. She fought the urge to take his hand once they got out of the mansion and turned toward the lake. A half moon shone in the sky, not enough for someone unfamiliar with the property to navigate by, but plenty for two people who'd spent large chunks of their lives there.

"So what did you do while Hank and I were gone?" she asked.

"I went to see Alex."

He'd gone to see his brother? Oh, no wonder he was exhausted -- emotionally exhausted. "How'd that go?"

"Better than I expected. He didn't hang up on me when I called, and he didn't ambush me with a baseball bat when I got to his office."

"Both are good signs, yes." She wouldn't push for details. She'd learned over the years that Scott would talk or not as he chose. Asking more questions wouldn't necessarily encourage that.

"We'll never be close," he said after a while. "But maybe we can be civil enough that we can both visit our parents at the same time."

"Your parents would like that. Did he have any news about the mutation in your power?"

"He took some readings, and he'll do the testing and analysis when he has time. Between working on his dissertation and scoping out young co-eds."

Jean laughed. "Do they still use that term? Co-ed?"

Scott chuckled. "'They' might not, but I just did."

They finished the circuit around the lake in surprisingly comfortable silence. If the memories of their last encounters weren't so sharp in her memory, Jean could almost convince herself they were still together.

"Why'd you volunteer?" Scott asked as they came within sight of the mansion again. "I mean, why now?"

Jean heard the rest as though he'd spoken it aloud, even though not an echo of a thought leaked from behind his shields. _Why now and not before?_

She had to choose her answer carefully -- he wouldn't appreciate it if he knew she'd read his mind while he was unconscious. "Because, strange as it sounds, being apart from you has made me more aware of you. I saw that you needed someone, and I offered."

This time he didn't bother to hide his surprise. "Thanks."

She smiled at him. "Any time."

He stopped. "No, I mean it. Thank you."

And then he put his arms around her and held her close. She stiffened in his arms, then slid her own around his waist, trying to relax.

He held her until she relaxed, and then a moment longer, before he loosened his hold and stepped back a little. In the dark, she couldn't read his eyes, and she would not pry into his mind, would not shatter this fragile moment of trust they'd built.

She'd taken a step toward showing him that she cared about him. Would he take a step in opening up to her?

"I miss you," he said quietly. "Every morning, I expect you to be in bed beside me. Every night, I expect to talk about our days -- what you did in the lab, how the students are doing, all the little details of our lives."

"I miss you. Otherwise I wouldn't be trying to show you that I do care." She couldn't help but match his honesty with her own.

"It's -- not easy for me to ask for help. Especially when I really need it." The confident Scott Summers she'd fallen in love with had taken a vacation. This Scott, uncertain and hesitant, was someone she'd never met before.

"We were partners, Scott, even beyond teammates and lovers." Jean knew the hurt had crept into her voice again. But they were being honest, and honesty meant admitting the hurt, not hiding it. "I felt like you didn't trust me to help."

"I never meant --" he broke off, swallowed, and started again. "I trust you. I just couldn't say the words."

She might be hurting, still, but so was he. Instinctively, she reached to take his hand. His fingers closed around hers and held tight.

"I'll do better."

His words had the ring of a vow, though they were barely a murmur in the night. She squeezed his hand, and said, "I hope so."

He flinched as though from a physical blow, and she guessed he'd been expecting something more from her than that. She wouldn't, couldn't take the words back, nor elaborate on them. Instead, she said, "I still have some of that dark cocoa that you like. Want a cup?"

He mock groaned. "All that sugar."

"So run twenty-two miles tomorrow instead of twenty. I'll shave some real chocolate over the whipped cream."

"If you're going to play dirty, I'll lose."

"No, playing dirty would be adding mint or cinnamon in addition to the chocolate."

He laughed and turned her back toward the mansion. "So what did you do in the lab today?"

- - - - -

Scott woke the next morning feeling more rested and refreshed than he had since he'd left Jean. He didn't want to admit that spending quiet time with her the night before might have had something to do with that.

The feeling stayed with him through the morning run -- he managed not to grin at Jean like an idiot -- and a round of phone calls with Hank, his father, and an aeronautical firm in Texas for upgrades to the Blackbirds.

It stayed with him all morning, in fact, until he paused outside the game room to see a double handful of students gathered around the television. Between Kitty's and Jubilee's heads he caught an image of a building with the name Worthington on it, and his good mood evaporated. They were announcing the cure.

He'd known it was coming, had already been preparing for it, but that didn't make Worthington's condescending, pitying tone and explanation any easier to take.

Movement to his right caught his attention, and he turned to see Marie striding toward him. He realized that he still stood in the doorway, and shifted his position to give her room to pass him. Only then did he catch the glint of tears in her eyes.

"Want to talk?" he asked quietly as she passed.

"I think maybe I do." Her answer was even softer than his question, and he rested a hand on her back as he joined her.

He could feel the tension in her body and blurted, "Is Bobby pressuring you?"

"How'd you know?"

It was the one drawback of his tactical gift, having to try to explain how he made the connections he did. This time, though, he had a ready excuse. "He's a guy. I'm a guy. I know how he thinks."

"Before," she gave the word a slight emphasis, "he was patient. But then you got this control serum, and he was more disappointed than I was when you said I couldn't take it until I'm eighteen."

"And...?" Scott prompted.

"And then you got sick."

"And you got -- nervous." He'd almost said scared, but he hated having that word applied to him, so he wouldn't apply it to her.

"Yes."

"I'd be nervous in your shoes, too," Scott told her. They'd reached the kitchen and he crossed to the fridge to pull out a couple of sodas. "It wasn't a fun thing to go through, and at the time nobody had any idea why it was happening."

"You do now?" She took the soda he offered her.

"Jean, Hank and I talked before he left. We're pretty sure what happened to me was because I had brain damage as a kid. Jean thinks that had to be healed before the powers could be controlled."

"And now this cure --" Marie stared into the bottle she held.

"Did he suggest you take it?" Scott would have to beat Bobby to a pulp if he had. Or at least make him re-take senior year physics.

"No, not even hints. But I can't help wondering..."

"What do you want? Not what Bobby wants or what you think the team needs. What does Marie want?" She looked up at him, blinking, and he smiled a little. "It's your life, Marie, not ours. None of us can tell you what you should do."

"I don't know," she said after a while.

"Don't do anything until you do." He put his bottle down and leaned on the counter. "Both our powers are dangers to others, and we want other people, people we love, to be comfortable with us. But that comfort can't come at the cost of being who we are."

Marie drank the rest of her soda, obviously considering what he'd said.

"It's a lot to think about," Scott said. "Take your time."

"But if the team needs me --"

"What you want takes precedence. Remember that." Scott reached over to put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm glad you were there to help with Madrox. But what you want matters more than my being glad. I want you to be happy. Whatever that takes. Okay?"

She smiled. "Okay."

"And don't let anybody pressure you into doing anything. If anyone tries, let me know."

That made her laugh. "I will. Thanks for listening."

"Any time."

- - - - -

"You saw the announcement?"

Magneto had to stop his lip from curling into a snarl. "I did."

"Does it change the plan?"

There were only a few people he would tolerate questions from, and Callisto was one of them. "Only in details. In fact, this might be just the catalyst phase two needs. Can you locate Mystique?"

"She's mobile, in the midwest. Chicago is the closest big city."

"Excellent. I'll call you when I need her location pinpointed."

"Do you need me elsewhere?"

"I think for now it's best that you stay where you are. You may be needed to point them toward me when the time comes."

"Okay." She gave a frustrated sigh. "It's just boring here. They aren't trusting me."

"And they shouldn't," Magneto told her. "But you can offer to attend some of the rallies that will surely happen and report back to them. While you're there, you can recruit for the Brotherhood."

"As long as I don't have to deal with Pyro."

"I'll make certain he attends rallies outside New York." Magneto disconnected the call.

That the research facility was in San Francisco was a stroke of fortune that simplified his plans immensely. Now he simply needed an army to distract the X-Men, and a sufficient lure for Cyclops.


	21. Chapter 21

Things start to get a bit more exciting from here on out…. Alcatraz is coming up, among other things… Thanks for sticking with me so far!

Still don't own the X-Men, though I really wish I had their jet…

X X X X X

"We're doing all our training in one room?"

Scott bit back a grin at the question that came from Lieutenant Richard Mayfield, codenamed Redneck, commander of Delta Force team seven. Delta team seven and SEAL team two, commanded by Lieutenant (j.g.) Ian McAllister, codenamed Sushi, had arrived earlier that day. Once they'd gotten their bunking arrangements sorted out, Scott had introduced them to the X-Men.

He'd expected the skepticism and outright disbelief because some of the X-Men weren't even out of high school yet. When it came, he'd suggested they get right into a combat scenario and see what happened. So they were gathered outside the Danger Room.

"You've never seen a room like this," Scott assured Redneck. "Between cutting edge AI, holographic simulation, and real time monitoring and adjustment, we can create any environment you can think of."

Redneck clearly didn't believe him.

"Let's show 'em," Logan suggested. "How about that sweep program Kitty did?"

"Good idea," Scott said. He and Logan had agreed earlier that would be the first program the special operators ran in the Danger Room, but now the suggestion made it seem casual rather than planned.

"It's a standard scenario," Logan explained. "I don't know what you call it -- where you have innocents and hostiles both?"

Sushi nodded. "We call it a kill house."

"Who wants to go first?" Scott asked.

Sushi and Redneck exchanged a glance. "Flip a coin?" Redneck suggested.

Logan pulled a quarter from his pocket. "Heads, Delta. Tails, SEALS." He flipped the coin, showed the result to the others. "Heads."

"Pick two X-Men to run with you," Scott said. "Any two, commander's choice."

Redneck thought for a moment. "Wolverine and Colossus."

Scott wasn't surprised at the choices. They were, after all, the ones whose powers kept them closest to human normal -- aside from Peter's armored form -- and therefore the ones most comfortable for a commander not used to thinking in terms of mutant powers and abilities.

"What's the course record?" Redneck asked as he checked his guns. They'd provided the teams with blank rounds since the Danger Room couldn't stop real bullets.

"We haven't kept track," Scott said. "So you can set it."

"They can set it," Sushi grinned. "We'll break it."

"Care to put money on that?" Redneck shoved his gun back in its holster.

"Are we allowed to gamble? It's a school, remember?" Sushi looked at Scott. "Your call, Cyclops."

"As long as you don't involve the students -- X-Men excepted -- I have no problem with it. Ready, Redneck?"

Redneck didn't even glance at his team. "Ready."

"Kitty and I will monitor," Scott said. "Give us three minutes to get up there."

- - - - -

"Only warning you get," Logan said just before the doors to the Danger Room opened, "is this is a random scenario. The number and type of hostiles changes every time. Might have mutant hostiles, might have human, same for victims."

Redneck nodded, and the doors opened. Peter armored up and Logan followed him and the Delta team inside.

For all that he'd briefed Redneck, it was theoretical knowledge gained from the discussions the team had the night before. He'd never run this scenario, but as the team approached the wooden house sitting in the desert, he suddenly knew he'd done this exact thing before.

_But there should be jungle, not desert._

Where had that certainty come from? He couldn't focus on those images, memories that teased at the edge of his awareness, not with Redneck barking orders and the team spreading out for insertion.

Redneck ordered Peter to take point. He and two others fell in behind Peter and Logan scowled to himself. It was taking body armor a little too seriously to use the armored man as a meat shield, he thought.

His scowl deepened when Redneck ordered him to take the six o'clock position, last in line. It could've been worse, he admitted. Redneck might've ordered him to be the meat shield instead of Peter.

Then they were inside, and Logan's certainty that he'd done this before grew with each step, each shot that echoed in the confined space. The echo sounded wrong, though. Moist jungle air should deaden the sound a little. And there should be screaming, women and children…

Three hostiles lay dead, two mutants and a human, and Logan administered the coup de grace to one that still twitched, as though he'd done that before. And he had…

_Focus._ The almost-memories were getting stronger, and he had to focus past them. He couldn't let his team down -- even though Redneck wasn't treating him and Peter as though they were on the same team.

More gunshots echoed in the house, and more hostiles fell. He frowned. The one at his feet didn't have a weapon, but bled from a gut shot.

_Nasty way to die, especially when you weren't supposed to._ He administered another coup de grace, with regret for the unlucky armadillo-skinned woman he killed. Looked like Redneck's team would need a bit of work on identifying mutant hostiles.

A hostile leapt from a concealed closet behind him, and Logan spun, slicing through his neck with one clean swipe.

The house dissolved around them, and Logan retracted his claws. The scenario might be over, but memories still teased at him.

_And I can't have a beer until dinner._

- - - - -

Scott stood behind Kitty in the monitor room. He'd watched the X-Men train in this scenario in various combinations, but they tended to go for broke, whereas Redneck led his team as though he were an orchestra conductor. Everyone had his part, and came in on cue.

"Different," Kitty commented. "But they only killed two innocent mutants."

"Non-human looking ones, though," Scott said. "Too many scary alien movies, probably." Kitty rolled her eyes at him. "We'll break them of it, don't worry."

When the Delta team had finished its run, Kitty reset the program, randomizing the number of hostiles and innocents, as well as the setting. "We'll see how the SEALs do."

"Cyke?" Logan's voice came through the speaker on the control panel. "Sushi wants to know if he's stuck with Redneck's choices."

"I said commander's choice. Who does he want?"

"You and Storm."

That surprised him. "I'll be right there." He put a hand on Kitty's shoulder. "Record this run."

She nodded without looking up and Scott left the monitor room, fit his visor over his eyes. This should be interesting.

The doors opened and Scott followed the SEALs inside, Ororo at his side. The doors closed behind them and the simulation took over. They stood about a hundred yards from the kill house, concealed from view by a small copse of trees.

"Holy shit." The muttered exclamation came from the one introduced as Bandit. "Puts 3-D movies to shame."

"Can it," Sushi said. "Storm, can you localize subzero temperatures inside the house?"

"The smaller the area, the harder it is," Ororo said. "How about surrounding the house, ten feet out?"

"Works. How fast?"

"How fast do you need?" Ororo countered.

"When we get to the door."

Ororo nodded. "I can do that."

The SEALs hadn't seen the Delta team's run, so this was Sushi adapting on the fly. Scott had to admit he was impressed, even though he wasn't used to taking orders.

"I've got point," Sushi continued. "Cyclops, with me. Break off to engage anyone who doesn't drop from a shot."

Scott acknowledged the order with a nod. It was a reasonable enough plan, overall. The shock of cold would slow any hostiles' reactions, and Sushi had taken into account the unpredictability of mutant powers.

Sushi gave a signal, and they moved out. Scott relaxed into the routine, letting himself enjoy not having to give the orders for once. He probably should be evaluating their performance, but he could do that when he watched Kitty's recording.

Scott followed Sushi through the door, and in the second room he had to break off to blast a mutant with lizard-like skin. His right fist clenched and he tapped the first knuckle of his forefinger with his thumb. The contacts he and Hank had installed connected, and the ruby quartz lens of his visor raised about one quarter its depth. The beam caught the lizard-man in the chest and sent him flying back through a window.

Scott watched with satisfaction. He'd have to tell Hank the remote worked perfectly.

But there were still more hostiles, and he turned to rejoin the SEALs. In the few seconds he'd stood still, the chill in the air had seeped through the body armor he wore. Not for the first time he was glad he and Ororo were on the same team.

Scott caught up with Sushi just as he entered the last room of the house. Three hostages, two hostiles. Sushi fired on a mutant hostile and two others of his team took out the last hostile.

The simulation faded around them, and Ororo opened the door.

"So much for SEAL efficiency," Redneck said when all three teams were once again assembled in the hall outside the Danger Room. "Off our time by twenty seconds."

"So what did you think?" Scott asked casually, grinning.

Sushi grinned back. "You ever need extra cash, you could rent that room out for SEAL training."

"Impressive," Redneck said. "A little disturbing that you're training a private army."

Scott saw a frown flicker across Jean's face at Redneck's comment, but said only, "I've been in contact with the Joint Chiefs and the Secretary of Mutant Affairs. The X-Men fill a need that conventional military can't. Yet. Which is why you, gentlemen, are here."

"How do you know conventional military can't fill that need?" Sushi sounded curious. Redneck's stance expressed his disbelief.

Scott shrugged, deliberately nonchalant. It would challenge men like these more than any outburst he could make. "We'll give you a demonstration tomorrow. Your two teams going up against a situation we faced not long ago. Maybe I'm wrong and you can handle it."

"What if we do?" Sushi asked.

Logan snorted. "You beat that scenario, I'll buy you a year's worth of beer. Each."

That got their attention. "And if we don't?" Sushi asked.

"You admit that maybe there's a need for the X-Men after all," Logan said.

"Deal." Sushi held his hand out, and Logan shook it. After a moment, Redneck followed suit.

"Sleep well, gentlemen," Scott said. "You'll need it."

- - - - -

As it turned out, both Sushi and Redneck had to admit that there was a need for the X-Men, though Redneck did so grudgingly and only after losing all of his team. But that's what happened when you went up against Magneto with only metal weapons. Logan knew that from first-hand experience.

But by the end of the two week training session, both teams worked seamlessly with the X-Men, and even Logan had to admit that it could be helpful to have the military on their side if worse came to worst. Which it would. The only question was when.

The bus that would take the teams to the airport sat outside the mansion, and he'd joined Scott and Jean to bid the teams goodbye. Ororo and the younger X-Men had classes and had said their goodbyes that morning at breakfast. Scent told him that Ororo and Redneck had said a more private goodbye the night before, but that was nobody else's business. He'd learned long ago that there were few enough chances for happiness in this world, you should grab them when they happened by.

Now if only Scott and Jean would take back the happiness they'd had before.

It didn't look like that would happen today, though. Scott slapped the door of the van once it was full, then turned to go back into the mansion even before it had pulled away. Beside him, Jean gave a sigh inaudible to normal ears. But his ears weren't normal.

"Problem?" Logan asked, and she flicked a startled glance at him.

"Not really a problem, so much as a change."

"Getting things back to normal after the grunts have gone?"

Jean chuckled. "That's the easy part."

"What's the hard part?" Logan had to push. She was holding something back, and he needed to know what it was. That seemed to be another part of his nature, he noted, pushing to find answers.

"Deciding whether to take another position."

"You're leaving?" Shock made him blurt. Jean belonged here. How could she think of leaving?

"I'm thinking about it." Now that she'd admitted it, however reluctantly, she seemed to relax. "We're isolated here, Logan. We don't actually live in the real world and see what's going on with mutants in everyday life. How can we adequately represent the larger mutant population from an ivory tower?"

"You did a good job when you testified before the Senate." It was the only thing he could think to say.

"I was set up to fail." The barest hint of bitterness laced her tone. "And not just by Senator Kelly. I did the best I could with what I was allowed, but --" she stopped and took a breath. "Sorry."

"Sounds like you need to get it out of your system," Logan said. Maybe if she did, she'd stay. The team needed her, Scott needed her, he needed her. He was only now realizing exactly why he needed her.

"It's over and done. If I testify again, things will be different."

"I'm sure they will. Does leaving here get you closer to testifying again?"

"It might, it might not. But testifying before Senate committees isn't the only way to change the world." The van had disappeared beyond the horizon, and Jean turned back to the mansion. "Who was it who said to be the change you want to see in the world?"

"Gandhi."

"Thanks. But think about it -- if the change I want to see is mutants and non-mutants living and working together in reasonable harmony, shouldn't I be doing that? Or at least trying to?"

"Maybe." Logan fell into step with her. "And maybe you need to think about how you can best effect that change. Maybe it's living and working among non-mutants. Maybe it's staying here and testifying before Senate committees. And kicking Magneto's ass sometimes."

That made her chuckle, as he'd hoped it would. "Maybe so."

"Jeannie." He paused with his hand on the doorknob so she'd have to look at him. "You do what you need to do. But think long and hard about it before you do anything. This place won't be the same without you. None of the people, either."

"It's not something I'd choose lightly. Especially not after --" She broke off, shook her head. "I promise I'll think about it."

It was the most reassurance he was likely to get, and he opened the door for her. Instead of following her inside, he pulled the door closed again and turned toward the trail where the team did their morning runs. It was one way he and Scott were alike -- they did their best thinking while moving, and this particular problem would likely require a dozen or more laps of the trail.

Jean couldn't leave. It was that simple. Scott might be the team leader, the brains of the outfit, but Jean was its soul. The team wouldn't survive without her, and it had to survive. If the team fell apart, who would stand against Magneto and his brotherhood?

He'd been skeptical, even insulting, of the team when he'd first arrived, but their fights at Liberty Island and then Alkali Lake had convinced him the team was needed. That team needed head and soul -- as well as brute force -- to be useful.

So his job was to figure out how to make sure Jeannie stayed where she was most needed. And that, he concluded, meant figuring out what had happened between her and Scott and convincing the kid to fix whatever he'd messed up. Even if convincing him took a knock-down drag-out fight in the Danger Room.

- - - - -

"Scotty, it's Hank."

The agitation in the other man's voice explained his use of Scott's teenage nickname. "What is it, Hank?"

"The convoy carrying Mystique, Madrox, and Juggernaut was attacked two days ago. The report only now made it to my desk."

"Attacked? Magneto?"

"Yes. He destroyed four police cruisers, and set all three of them free. Ten men died."

"Jesus." Scott rose from his office chair and crossed to the window overlooking the basketball court. Seeing children at play reassured him that the whole world wasn't going to hell. "They all escaped, I take it?"

"Not all."

Even after all these years, he knew that tone. "What aren't you saying, Hank?"

"Magneto left Mystique behind."

"That makes no sense," Scott said. "She's his best asset."

"Not anymore."

"She's dead?"

Hank's voice was flat in the way a voice only got when it was delivering very bad news. "Not dead. The guards in the convoy had weapons loaded with darts. Those darts contained the cure."

Scott went cold. "They made it into a weapon." It wasn't really a question.

"I didn't know about it. Not until I got the report on the attack this morning."

"Logan's going to say he told us so." Scott knew the potential for turning the cure into a weapon had been present from the beginning. He had hoped that it wouldn't be realized so soon.

"I've got a meeting with the president tomorrow about it."

"Good," Scott said.

"I'm going to resign."

"Say again?" He couldn't have heard what he thought he'd heard. Could he?

"I said I'm resigning, Scott."

"Don't do that, Hank."

"I wasn't consulted on this, wasn't even informed. My position is a sham."

"Only if you let it be," Scott countered. "What time's your appointment?"

"Four. But I can't change the fact that I wasn't consulted."

"No, you can't. But we can change what happens from now on. If you resign, there's no one left to speak for us."

"Scott --"

"I'll be there by one. Let's talk before you do anything, okay?" It wasn't really a question, despite that Hank had been one of his earliest teachers when he'd first come to Xavier's, despite Hank's position as Secretary of Mutant Affairs. This was an X-Men issue, Hank had once been an X-Man, and he was the X-Men's commander.

Hank agreed, reluctantly, and Scott hung up just long enough to get a clear line and then dialed Logan's phone.

"Yo."

"My office."

"On the way."

Scott put the phone back in its cradle and stretched his arms behind his head. He didn't need news like that this late in the day. Ever, really. As he turned back to his desk, his gaze fell on a photo of him and Jean. He hadn't removed any of the pictures yet, hadn't been able to think of things as that completely finished between them. Her offer to walk and listen two weeks before had given him hope in that direction, but between training the special forces teams and a conference she'd gone to in Dallas in the middle of that training, they hadn't had any time alone since.

Ororo had taken the picture last Christmas, capturing a rare moment of public affection between him and Jean. They'd stood under mistletoe without realizing it, and Jubilee had badgered them until they'd finally kissed. Ororo caught the moment after the kiss, and he could see Jean's love for him in every line of her body, every nuance of her expression.

Maybe someday he'd see that love again.

"What's up?"

He turned at Logan's question, waved the other man inside. "They've made the cure into a weapon."

"You must've been in the Navy once," Scott observed when the stream of cursing ended.

Logan glared at him. "What're we doing about it?"

"I wanted your ideas before I decide."

That shocked the other man, Scott saw, though Logan hid the reaction almost instantly. To give Logan a moment to regain his composure, Scott added, "I'm going to fly down to D.C. to talk to Hank before he meets with the president in the morning. The first thing on the agenda is convincing him not to resign."

"Resigning would be a bad move," Logan agreed. "Wouldn't have thought the furball would run from a challenge."

"He was still in shock over the news when he said it." Scott summarized what Hank had told him about Magneto's attack on the prison convoy.

Logan listened, then said, "C'mon."

It was the last thing Scott had expected him to say. "Where?"

"Town."

"Why are we going to town?" Logan had already turned away, and Scott followed.

"Because if we're gonna think hard, I need a beer."


	22. Chapter 22

The past few days have been … interesting, thanks to a bout of stomach flu (yeah, not fun) and a death in the family (even less fun). In an odd moment of serendipity, this chapter is one of my favorites (Scott commits blackmail; who'd'a thunk?). So, to make myself feel better, I'm going to post it early, just because.

X X X X X

"You can't leave."

Jean looked up. Logan filled the doorway to her office, his expression serious and determined.

"Good morning, Logan. Would you like some coffee?"

"I'm serious, Jeannie. You can't leave. We need you."

She sighed and shoved her laptop aside. She'd have to get back to transcribing her notes later. "You don't need me, Logan. You want me. It's not the same."

"I don't want you." He grinned at her too-obvious surprise. "Not the way you think."

"I haven't had enough coffee yet for philosophical discussions," Jean said, "much less for veiled hints and innuendo."

"Fine." He strode into the room and rested his fists on her desk, leaning forward to loom over her. "Stay. The team needs you. Scott needs you."

"And you don't?" Maybe it was time to stop dancing around the subject with him.

"I do." He straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. "I was just wrong about how."

"Then how do you need me? Or want me," she corrected herself. She hadn't thought that Logan did much self-examination. He was a man of action more than a man of reflection. Apparently, he knew himself better than she'd given him credit for.

"You're everything I haven't had the last fifteen years." His voice was low but intense. He spoke only to her, and she heard his unspoken desire that this remain between them. "You're beautiful, smart, stable, settled. Yeah, I wanted you in the only way I knew how."

She felt that desire from him now, blunted, not as sharp as she'd felt it before. But there was something different now, besides the intensity. She concentrated, trying to pin down the difference, but was distracted when he spoke again.

"Wanted is the wrong word. Craved. I craved you, and it didn't matter who got in the way."

She'd felt that raw need from him in the infirmary, after he'd recovered from bringing Marie back from the dead. But he'd respected her choice, then, had cut her off from saying anything that might compromise her relationship with Scott.

"What changed?" She asked finally, her throat tight around the words.

"I kissed you."

Of course it would come back to that kiss in the woods. But --"How did that change things?"

"Let's just say the earth moved more when the dam was collapsing."

Jean stared at him, felt her mouth work a moment before words finally came. "I think that's an insult."

"Just truth." He straightened and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "You're beautiful and sexy and smart and all those things, but none of 'em belong to me." He grinned suddenly. "Doesn't mean I won't enjoy 'em."

She had to laugh. "You wouldn't be you if you didn't."

"I do need stability. A purpose." He didn't seem to have registered her words. "But I found that with the team. Once the preppie relaxed."

"So you don't need me." She shouldn't have been disappointed to realize that, but she was. His attention had been flattering, like a breeze on a warm spring day. It didn't mean she didn't enjoy the day, but an unexpected breeze heightened the enjoyment.

"I said I do, didn't I?"

"You said you need the team."

"And you're part of it. An important part." He paused, frowned. "Maybe the most important part."

"Scott --"

"Scott's a tactical genius and a damn fine commander. But the team would get along without him."

It was an eerie reverse-echo of her reason for leaving. "I'm just a doctor. You can find others. And God knows there are plenty of telepaths out there."

"Plenty? I thought it was just you and the professor?"

"Hardly. There's a woman in the city who has her own school, and a charter pilot in Britain. Just for starters."

"Huh." He accepted that, returned to his original topic. "I'm not talking about what you do, Jeannie. I'm talking about what you are."

"What am I?"

"Maybe you need to answer that for yourself." He held up a hand, forestalling her protest. "I'm not trying to be cryptic. I know what I see, but maybe you don't see it the same way."

"What do you see?"

"You really want to know?" At her nod, he said, simply, "You're the soul of this team."

"I'm not. Ororo --"

"You asked what I see. I told you. You don't have to agree."

Before she could answer, he'd turned and gone.

How like the Wolverine, she couldn't help thinking. Make a precision cut and then leave your opponent to bleed.

- - - - -

"I wasn't aware we were having guests, Hank."

Scott kept his expression neutral. He'd worn the glasses to keep his eyes hidden -- if Logan said his eyes were easy to read, he had to believe him -- and because he didn't want to let anyone else know he had full control of his powers yet. Let them get used to dealing with someone they thought was a walking laser cannon always on full power. They needed the practice.

"Given the arrangements Mr. Summers has made with the Joint Chiefs, and given what happened in Iowa three days ago, I thought his input might be valuable." That was Hank, ever the diplomat.

McKenna waved them to seats on one of the damask sofas opposite the _Resolute_ desk in the Oval Office. He sat facing them on the other sofa. "What happened in Iowa was an isolated incident."

"I hope so," Hank said. "But that doesn't change the fundamental issue. Policy is being made without me."

"Hank --" the president began.

"No, Mr. President. The decision to turn the cure into a weapon was made without me."

"You have to understand the mutants on that convoy were a documented threat."

"We understand that completely, Mr. President," Scott said. "I gave you the information we had on Mystique because she's a criminal. My team stopped both Marko and Madrox because they're criminals."

"Then I don't understand the problem."

"Who authorized the use of those cure guns on that convoy?" Hank asked.

"I did."

Scott was surprised at the man's open admission. Then again, he didn't see it as a problem.

"Using the cure on a mutant without their consent --" Hank broke off. For once, words failed him, and he looked at Scott.

"Mystique is a criminal," Scott said, "but in this country, criminals have rights. Due process, for one. The right to trial by jury for another. No jury handed down a punishment that included using the cure on Mystique. Or any of the others, for that matter."

"What else can we do against a man powerful enough to move a city with his mind?"

"Or level it with his eyes?" Scott adjusted his glasses to emphasize the point.

Hank found words again. "Mutants are like anyone else, Mr. President. Most of us just want to be left alone, to live our lives in peace, raise families, have jobs, vote in elections. But when word of things like what happened on that convoy get out, even those of us who just want to be left alone will get angry."

"Our mutations are part of who we are," Scott said. "Taking them away from us is like blinding someone. Or cutting out his tongue. Or maybe even performing a pre-frontal lobotomy on him. You have no right to do any of those things to non-mutants without their consent. Why do you assume you have the right to shoot a cure dart into a mutant without his consent?"

Keeping his voice even at that last was a struggle. Righteous anger surged within him, but it had to be contained. This argument had to be won by logic and reason, not fury.

"As I said, what else can we do against mutants that powerful?" McKenna wasn't backing down. "We're only human, after all."

"A few weeks ago, I met with you and the Joint Chiefs to discuss situations like these. Have you forgotten?"

"Your people weren't in Iowa."

"You didn't ask," Scott snapped back.

"Mr. President," Hank said, smoothly cutting Scott's protest off. "There's really only one answer to your question."

Scott was grateful for the reprieve. His anger had been about to run away with his mouth. Hank had stopped that, and wouldn't ever bring the subject up again.

"What's that?" McKenna asked, though he didn't take his eyes off Scott.

"Stop doing things that would make people want to level cities."

Trust Hank to hit one out of the ballpark.

McKenna stared at him, and Hank continued, "The Registration Act. You didn't oppose it. You were going to allow a law to be passed that required mutants to register with the government, just like Nazi Germany made Jews register. There's not a mutant in the country who didn't wonder whether the rest would happen here, too."

"It wouldn't," McKenna protested.

"You can't guarantee that," Scott said quietly.

"Whether it would or not," Hank said, "the point is that the parallel was made. And one of those mutants who can move or level a city with his mind alone acted on it. It was only through the X-Men's actions that he was stopped. And now you turn what could be a great gift into a weapon." Hank shook his head. "If, someday, a mutant does decide to level a city, some will say you brought it on yourself."

- - - - -

It was past six when Jean left her office. Without Scott to go home to, she found herself spending longer hours there than she usually did. Oh, both she and Scott could be workaholics, but they'd always managed at least two nights a week when they'd leave the office by five and spend quiet time together. Now she had too much quiet time alone.

But that was no reason to become a recluse. Tonight, she planned to join Ororo and a few of the female students for a "girls' night in" of watching chick flicks and drinking mimosas -- a 'real' drink with not too much alcohol in it. They'd discovered over the years that a few permitted indulgences headed off a lot of unpermitted excesses.

She frowned when she saw the doors to Cerebro standing open and Charles sitting at the control panel. What was he doing there at six o'clock on a Friday evening?

There was only one way to find out, so she followed the hall to the entry. "Professor?"

"Come in, Jean." He couldn't look over his shoulder, but gave the impression that he had.

One look around told her that most of the panels Stryker had removed had been replaced. "It's fixed?"

"That's what I'm about to determine."

"I didn't realize we'd decided to fix it."

"Cerebro is mine, Jean," Charles said. "Not the team's. And it serves a purpose beyond tracking down bad guys."

"Of course." But she couldn't get the objections raised at the Alkali Lake debriefing out of her memory. Was a functioning Cerebro worth the risk?

"Now that your power's stabilized," Charles said, "it would be good to have someone else who can use Cerebro."

"I did, once."

"In an emergency situation, very briefly. But you should learn to use it to its full capacity." He offered the helmet to her. "Shall we begin now?"

She hesitated barely a heartbeat before taking it. There was plenty of time for a lesson before she needed to join Ororo and the girls. "Okay."

Charles rolled his wheelchair back to give her room at the control panel, and she floated herself over the ledge of the narrow catwalk and around his chair. The control panel had been designed for him, someone in a permanently seated position, so she sat cross-legged in the air before it at the same height as his chair.

"On the floor, Jean," he advised. "You don't want to lose control of your telekinesis while you're connected. The fall would hurt you and the shock could possibly damage your or someone else's mind. Permanently."

She lowered herself to the catwalk, heard the doors to the chamber closing behind them, and settled the helmet on her head.

- - - - -

"Mr. President."

Scott wasn't the only one who jumped when the door to the Oval Office opened. He suspected that if Hank had been any worse at controlling his own reactions, he would've ended up suspended from the ceiling like a cat startled by a yipping dog in an old cartoon.

President McKenna turned toward the intruder, likely Secret Service by the looks of him. "What is it, Paul?"

"The information Darkholme gave us checked out. We've found it."

"Thanks, Paul. Let them know we're on our way." The door closed behind the other man, and McKenna rose. "I believe you'll both want to see this."

"What is it?" Scott asked.

"Darkholme," Hank repeated, puzzled. Then his expression cleared. "Mystique."

"She's given us more than we could have asked for," McKenna said. "Including the location of Magneto's base of operations."

"Why would she do that?" Scott asked. "She's always been loyal to him, blindly loyal, even."

"That was before he abandoned her," Hank said. "In Iowa, after she was struck by the cure dart. She's human now, and Magneto has no use for her."

"Hell hath no fury." McKenna looked entirely too pleased with himself, Scott thought.

"What are you planning?" he asked.

"To capture him, of course. Come along and see."

McKenna moved to the door of the Oval Office. Scott lingered a moment with Hank. "It won't be that easy."

"It never is," Hank said, and they followed McKenna out of the room.

- - - - -

The last time she'd used Cerebro, it had been difficult. She'd barely had enough control to keep focused on her task and then end the contact before she was overwhelmed by all the voices.

Now, with Charles working with her, his thoughts a steadying presence in the back of her mind, Jean could simply experience it. The sensation was both freedom to let her thoughts wander as they would, and the responsibility of not abusing the power Cerebro channeled and amplified.

She'd always known there were millions of mutants in the United States, but she'd known it in an abstract sense, the way she knew there were billions of stars in the sky. Now, she saw them, felt them, as individuals and as groups. She smiled to herself when she realized that there were, in fact, a large number of telepaths and other sensitives among them. It seemed to be the second or third most common mutation, in fact, after minor physical mutations like Artie's reptilian tongue, and then more serious somatic changes like extra limbs or even, in one case, feathered wings.

It gave her hope to realize just how many mutants were living normal lives, or mostly normal, she amended. No one with a mutation could live a completely normal life in the United States. Not yet, anyway.

A cluster of mutants on the West Coast caught her attention.

_Professor?_ Even in the privacy of a mind link, she couldn't bring herself to call him by his given name. _Isn't that a lot of people to be moving in one direction? All at the same time?_

She felt his attention shift and follow her own focus.

_There must be hundreds_, she thought, _maybe even a thousand._

_A march, perhaps?_ Charles asked.

It was a reasonable suggestion, and Jean knew one way to test the theory. _Let's find out._

She narrowed her focus onto the group, selected one member at random, touched the woman's thoughts.

_Jean_, the professor's tone carried a rebuke. She ignored it. Like it or not, they were at war, and ethics honed in an ivory tower could get you killed on the battlefield.

The woman was a few years younger than the professor, had been a wife and mother until her husband found out about her mutation and left her, taking their young daughter with him. Another moment told Jean that the woman had the ability to change her hands into a crystalline substance. Better-than-normal strength made them deadly blunt weapons that she was glad to use in the crusade for mutant freedom. That crusade began with the destruction of a cure that could be used against any of them at any time for any reason.

_That's not a march. That's an army._

Charles didn't contradict her, and his silence confirmed her conclusion more than any words would have done.

She had to tell Scott. Her attention shifted to Washington, where she knew Scott had gone to meet with Hank. Even through Cerebro, Scott's thought patterns shone clearly to her.

_Scott._

She felt his mental start. Clearly, he wasn't expecting her voice in his mind. In the space of a heartbeat, she told him what she'd found out West.

_Is Magneto with them?_

She re-focused on the army marching, listened for specific thoughts. _No._

_What about Wisconsin?_ Scott didn't seem surprised by her answer, just calmly gave her a location, and her attention focused on that.

_I'm only sensing one person there. Scott -- it's Madrox._

She could feel his mind processing that, but all he said was, _Tell Logan._

- - - - -

Inside the White House's version of a war room, Scott nudged Hank. At his subtle nod, Hank followed him to one side of the room, out of the way of the double handful of brass and lower-ranking aides. On the far side of the room, President McKenna spoke with General Trask and a few others.

"Magneto's not there," Scott said quietly.

"Are you sure?" He could read the uncertainty in Hank's eyes.

"Jean is." He tapped his temple, saw understanding dawn. "It's all just Madrox."

"We should tell them."

Scott stopped Hank's move toward the president with a hand on his arm. "No."

"Why not?"

"Are you ready to tell them about Cerebro?"

Hank silently shook his head. Scott gave heartfelt thanks that Hank hadn't even had to think about it.

"You look like you're planning something."

"Not at all," Scott answered his father. "I'm just betting Hank that's not Magneto's army." He jerked his head toward the screen on which the satellite image was displayed. The computer placed yellow dots over each person in the camp and red dots over the approaching National Guardsmen so the viewers could follow the action.

"Why do you say that?" Scott was oddly pleased that his father's question came as merely a question, not condescending or accusing.

"Magneto's got ambitious plans, but he's not stupid. Mystique isn't a mutant anymore, so he won't trust her. I've no doubt that used to be his base, but if I were him, I would've moved it immediately after she was shot."

"That's a lot of people gathered in one place," his father observed.

Scott shrugged. "Madrox escaped at the same time Mystique was shot."

His father's eyes narrowed as he absorbed that information. Before he could speak, a whispered voice came over the speakers. "We're going in."

Red dots converged on the yellow ones, and then the yellow dots blinked out, one by one, until there was a single yellow dot in a sea of red ones.

"Madrox," Hank said.

"Either that or the National Guard is remarkably trigger-happy," Scott agreed.

"What just happened?" Trask demanded.

The same voice came through the speaker. "We have one, repeat one, hostile in custody. There was no one else here. Just -- a lot of him."

"I believe," Hank spoke in a voice that carried across the room, "you'll find that's James Madrox."

McKenna recognized the name. "Then where's Magneto?"

"We're working on locating him," Hank replied. "But right now I'd suggest you have another, more serious problem."

"What's that?"

"A mutant army marching on Alcatraz."

Scott watched Hank's statement sink in.

"An army?" Trask repeated, his voice weak.

"How do you know?" Scott's father demanded.

"The fact is we know. And we know Magneto's not with that army," Scott added.

"Then what do we do?" Trask asked. He'd seemed so confident when he thought he had Magneto's army in his grasp. Now, with the revelation that it truly had been an army of one, he'd shrunk in on himself a little.

"You be grateful that my team's already prepping to meet that army," Scott said evenly. "And then you consider just how you intend to repay that."

McKenna crossed his arms over his chest. "That sounds like blackmail."

"It's not." Scott felt a rush of pleasure at his father's clipped certainty.

"No, it's not," Scott agreed. "It's just a reminder of a point Hank made earlier, Mr. President. We're going to go fight your war for you. Don't make us regret it."


	23. Chapter 23

Logan stepped out into the corridor outside the men's locker room, fastening his uniform as he did. Even with his healing factor, the extra armor the uniform provided would be useful in an all-out fight against mutants with unknown capabilities.

Kitty was already there, in uniform and looking only a little nervous at the prospect of her first fight as a full-fledged X-Man.

"Separate locker rooms are a pain when it's scramble time," he said. "Should make 'em co-ed."

"Co-ed?" Her eyes widened and then she swallowed hard. "But -- you'd all see -- and we'd see you --"

Logan didn't bother to stifle a growl. "Modesty's well and good, but seconds count when we have to scramble. I coulda briefed the team, 'stead of wasting time."

"You just want an excuse to look at naked women," Marie said as she emerged from the women's locker room. Peter and Bobby came out of the men's locker room at the same moment, and Logan couldn't help picking up their instinctive response to just the thought of naked women.

"Sorry, kid, you're too young for me." Logan grinned when she stuck her tongue out at him in response.

"And that's why there are separate rooms." Ororo pulled on her gloves as she and Jean joined them. "If everyone were adult, it would be a simple matter of majority vote."

Logan snorted. "Vote, hell. Necessity wins."

"Are you always so practical?" Jean's voice held a hint of teasing that he hadn't heard before, and he grinned at her.

"Only when necessity demands it." The sound of the door opening at the end of the hall caught his attention, and he looked to his right to see the professor wheeling out of Cerebro.

"I can't find Erik," Xavier said. Even with his enhanced senses, Logan wasn't certain whether Xavier sounded relieved or not. "He must still be wearing the helmet."

"We need to locate Magneto," Ororo said. "He's not with the army marching on Alcatraz, so what else does he have planned?"

"He helped me build Cerebro," Xavier said. "It's not surprising that he's found a way to block it."

"But he can't block Callisto." Logan gave an inward shake of his head at the apparent reluctance to use their newest arrival. "We need her to find him. We'd all rather we knew her better, trusted her more, but this is war."

"Necessity demands it," Jean said quietly, and he saw reluctant agreement on the rest of the X-Men's faces.

"Professor?" Logan asked.

Xavier frowned briefly, and then nodded. "I'll speak to her."

"Then call Scott and give him the location," Logan said. He looked around at the assembled X-Men. Six, plus him. Not a lot of people to stand against an army, he thought, at least not at first glance. But Ororo, Jean, and Bobby packed a lot of firepower. He just hoped it would be enough.

- - - - -

He'd never ridden in a police-escorted motorcade before, and Scott could only be grateful that this one was taking him and Hank to Bolling where the Blackbird waited instead of to some prison, simply because they were mutants, as might have been the case had the Mutant Registration Act passed.

Beside him in the passenger compartment of the limo, Hank stared grimly out the window at the passing skyline. Hank's decision to join the X-Men for this battle sent a message even stronger than the one he'd given the president as they left the White House. Even so, Scott suspected the choice sat uneasily on Hank's shoulders. But at least Hank hadn't resigned.

Across from him, his father said, "There are National Guard troops already stationed on Alcatraz Island to protect the facility."

"Not enough to stop Magneto," Scott said. "And he is behind that army, even if he's not with them."

"They have cure weapons," Hank said quietly. "The president told me just as we were leaving."

"Goddamn it." There was a time when swearing like that would've gotten him turned over his father's knee for a solid spanking. Now, it looked like his father echoed the sentiment. "What part of 'don't make us regret it' didn't he understand?"

"He didn't have to tell us," Hank pointed out, even as Scott was reaching for his cell phone. Jean had dropped telepathic contact some time ago, presumably to talk to Logan, so he punched in Logan's cellular number.

Logan must've checked the caller ID display before answering, because his first words were, "We're in the air."

"The troops on the island have cure weapons."

"Why're we doing this, again?"

"Because we're the good guys."

"Christ. I shoulda stayed in Canada. There I only had to deal with the occasional yokel with a shotgun."

"We'll let them know you're coming," Scott said with a glance at his father, and his father nodded. "So talk to whoever's in charge." His phone beeped and he checked the display. "The professor's calling, talk to you when I'm in the air."

"Roger that."

Scott picked up the incoming call. "Have you found him?"

"Callisto says that a powerful magnetic mutant is in the southwest," Charles answered. "She'll need to be closer to pinpoint his location."

Scott watched the gates at Bolling roll open. "We'll be there soon. See if you can find one of Hank's old uniforms."

"It won't fit," Hank grumbled, and Scott grinned as he disconnected the call.

The limo rolled to a stop and the driver opened the rear door. When they all stood on the tarmac near the Blackbird, his father extended his hand and said, "Good luck, Cyclops."

"Thanks, Corsair." Scott shook his father's hand, was only half-surprised when he was pulled into a brief, one-armed hug. Such affection was rare, but all the more treasured when it happened.

His father stepped back. "I'll call the commander at Alcatraz."

"Tell them we have invitations to this party." Scott gave a wave that might have been a salute, and jogged to catch up with Hank at the foot of the Blackbird.

- - - - -

"They moved fast," Jean observed as Ororo brought the Blackbird around for a landing on the west side of Alcatraz Island.

Logan looked over her shoulder at the army massing on Pier 45. At least a thousand, he guessed, and those were only the ones he could see. And "army" was too generous. They looked little more than a mob, with just enough discipline to follow a charismatic leader.

Well, slightly more discipline than that, he admitted grudgingly, if they were still here without Magneto.

"Just means it'll be over sooner, and we can go have a beer," he said, then glanced back at the younger X-Men. "Or a soda."

He got a couple of grins, though Kitty still looked nervous. He'd seen it before, he knew, those nerves before a battle. He vaguely remembered feeling it once himself, a very long time ago.

Ororo landed the Blackbird with only a little jarring, and Logan strode to the ramp. Outside, a man wearing a captain's insignia waited. Though the captain didn't obviously have a weapon, the half-dozen men at his back all did.

"Wolverine?" the captain asked. At Logan's nod, he said, "I'm Captain Glasser, unit commander. We were told to expect you."

"Magneto's army is here, so we don't have time for pleasantries. Tell your men to take a good look at my team," Logan said. "If any one of them is hit by a cure dart, you'll all answer to me, personally."

Glasser stiffened. "We don't take kindly to threats."

"There's no such thing as friendly fire where those cure darts are concerned." Logan held the other man's gaze until he nodded and looked away, then started around the building. "We're here to help you. If those darts hit us, you'll lose."

"You're only here because the president ordered it," Glasser snapped as he caught up with Logan. "We don't need your help."

"You've got what, fifty, maybe a hundred men stationed here?" At Glasser's nod, Logan waved an arm toward the mainland. "They've got a thousand, maybe two. Every one of them mutants. We'll sit it out if you want. Never been to Fisherman's Wharf," he mused.

"They're a mile away across a fast moving current," Glasser said. "We'll be ready."

"Wolverine." Jean's voice. "Look."

Across the bay, a flat rainbow began to form. Or at least, that's what it looked like, shimmering in the afternoon sunlight. It began as a point, spread wider until it was about the width of a two-lane road, then stretched toward the island. While they watched, the army moved onto it.

"Holy mother of God," Glasser muttered beside him.

"Still want us to take in the sights?" Logan asked.

Glasser shook his head.

"Keep your men back and ready. X-Men," he turned to face them, away from the massing army. "We'll let them approach on that bridge, stop them there. Phoenix, hold them on the bridge. Iceman, an ice wall around the end of it."

Jean nodded, calm but determined. Bobby looked somewhat daunted, but nodded.

"Storm, pull up a wind. Anyone who jumps off the bridge better have a hard swim to shore." She didn't answer, but he watched her eyes turn white and felt the bay breeze pick up.

Logan gave the rest an appraising look. "All right. This is what we've been training for. Keep your head, follow orders, and we'll be home by midnight."

- - - - -

Scott didn't bother to close the hangar when he landed the Blackbird. They'd just be leaving again within minutes, and the brass already knew about it, anyway.

When he and Hank came out of the locker room after changing into their battle uniforms, the professor was waiting with Callisto.

"You know what we need and why, right?" Scott asked.

The dark-haired woman nodded. "He told me. The person you want's in the southwest. I think he's moving."

"You can narrow it down as we get closer, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Come on, then," Scott said. "We'll see you later, Professor."

"Good luck." The words sounded forced, but Scott couldn't spare any time for the professor's feelings now.

"I wonder why he's not with the army," Hank said once they were back in the cockpit of the Blackbird.

Scott lifted the Blackbird from the hangar. "I don't know, but you can bet it's nothing good."

"Who is this guy, anyway?" Callisto asked from her seat behind Hank. "Xavier wouldn't say."

"His name's Erik Lensherr -- or was," Scott corrected himself. "Now he goes by Magneto."

"He's convinced that mutants are superior simply by virtue of their mutations," Hank explained. "And therefore, that mutants should rule the world."

"And he doesn't care who gets hurt in the process," Scott finished. "It's a shame."

"What's a shame? That he doesn't think like you do?"

Scott glanced back at Callisto. "That's part of it -- it's a shame he thinks non-mutant humans are inferior. But I meant it's a shame that he and the professor couldn't still be friends."

"They were friends?" Her astonished expression made Scott smile, just a little.

"Yes. He was one of the instructors at the school when I arrived."

"He and I taught all the science classes," Hank said. "Scott was one of our best students."

"You taught me more than science, Hank," Scott said. "It was largely thanks to you and Jean that I got comfortable with being a mutant."

"Not this Magneto person?" Callisto asked. "He didn't help you get comfortable with being a mutant?"

Scott couldn't help snorting. "He called me a god because of my mutation. Never mind that I blew out half the gym wall when my power manifested, and it was a minor miracle that nobody got hurt. Some god."

"But -- you are, aren't you? Compared to others?"

He turned in his seat to face her. "Nobody," he said clearly, "is a god over anyone else. Magneto's philosophy is nothing more than 'might makes right.' It sucked throughout history, and it sucks when he says it."

The intensity in his voice must have startled her, because she just nodded and turned to look out the window. Scott frowned at her a moment longer, then shifted back to face forward.

"It's too easy to think we're better because we're different," Hank mused. "The opposite of people fearing and hating because of a difference, I suppose."

"In any case," Scott said, "the important thing is to make sure nobody gets hurt."


	24. Chapter 24

Here we go -- Alcatraz, redux -- but unlike the movie, it's not the end of this story. There's lots more still to come after this fight. A whole 12 more chapters worth, actually. And since I can finally see the light at the end of the sequel, I'm going to start posting twice a week, Sundays and probably Wednesdays.

Thanks for reading this far, and I hope you enjoy the rest!

(As usual, still not mine, just trying to give them an interesting story to live.)

X X X X X

Jean stood to one side, watching the army draw closer. The bridge extended in time with their advance, and even from this distance, she picked up the anger and desperation roiling off them. It would only get worse as they got closer, and she strengthened her telepathic shields against the onslaught. She might have to lower them to use her telepathy later, but right now her focus was on stopping the army's advance at the shore.

Just as the bridge was about to touch the island, Logan stepped forward. "Before you step off that bridge," he said, his voice carrying over the crowd, "understand that you have no right or authority to be here. If you'll turn around now, nobody gets hurt."

Jean didn't expect that to make a difference, and apparently Logan hadn't either, because he didn't seem surprised at the angry roar that greeted his words.

"Fine," he muttered. "You had your chance."

The bridge touched down and Jean focused on holding the army back, just as she'd done at Alkali Lake what seemed like a lifetime ago. A thousand people didn't put as much strain on her as millions of gallons of water, but water moved in predictable fashions. People didn't.

These people pushed forward, ran into her telekinetic barrier, and then, reasonably, some tried to get around it, but she'd extended the barrier all the way back behind the army. She couldn't see the actual end of the light bridge from her vantage point, or else she'd have made it a cage. As it was, they'd have to jump off the back end of the bridge and swim to shore -- and the storm Ororo had called up made that an unpleasant prospect.

Beside her, Bobby stretched out a hand and she felt sub-zero air coalescing and condensing as he directed his power at the shore where the bridge had touched down.

"Never made anything this big before," Bobby muttered.

"You might hurry," Jean said. "They're pushing, hard."

And they were. Like people trapped in a locked room with a raging inferno at their backs, the army pushed and shoved against her telekinetic shield, and she had to adjust the shield whenever they did.

"Trying," Bobby said.

The pain came without warning, as though someone had stabbed a knife into her mind. Her mouth opened, but she didn't hear a scream. Pain lanced her kneecaps as she fell to the pavement.

She thought she heard someone call her name, but she couldn't be sure -- not when it felt like someone was doing brain surgery on her without benefit of anesthetic. She had to keep the army back, give Bobby the time he needed to build the ice wall, no matter how much it hurt. Otherwise, people would die. The little boy, Jimmy, could die.

She couldn't let that happen. She wouldn't.

Pain settled behind her eyes and built a bonfire. She'd had migraines before, but none of them felt like this. She slitted her eyes against the pain, felt cool wind on her cheeks. Was she crying? It didn't matter. She had to focus on the army that beat and pushed at the shield she held, on keeping them at bay.

The knife in her mind twisted.

- - - - -

"Jean!" Logan saw her fall, but didn't dare break the line to rush to her aid. Discipline, like courage, was contagious, and if he broke, even for good cause, the rest would, too, and then they'd lose.

A wave of force slammed through him, rattling his teeth in his head. Instinctively, he searched for the source even as he felt others around him struggling to keep their feet.

There -- a woman with short, dark hair and a terminally pissed-off expression clapped her hands in front of her, and another force-wave washed over the island.

"Useless power," Kitty muttered beside him. She appeared unaffected by the shock waves. "I mean, all you have to do is pin her hands and she can't use it."

"You okay?" Logan asked.

Kitty nodded. "I'm phased. Can't really feel it."

"Then get her. Take her down and get back to the line."

She turned wide eyes on him. "You mean -- kill her?"

"If that's what it takes." He held her gaze. "It's not the first choice, but it is a choice."

Kitty swallowed, but straightened her shoulders. He watched her run toward the dark-haired shock wave generator.

His attention turned back to Jean, and she still had one hand extended toward the army, still trying to hold it back. It didn't look good, he thought, not with Bobby's ice wall barely two feet tall all around the perimeter.

"Faster," he said, though he knew the Iceman couldn't hear him over the din of the army. This was what he hated about command -- giving orders and then waiting for them to be carried out, watching but unable to help.

He saw Jean's arm shaking, then watched her pitch forward. The army surged over the beginnings of the wall.

"Iceman, fall back!" Logan ordered. "Everyone, fall back, form a line around the main entrance. We hold that line, you hear?"

They fell into position, and Logan braced for the first wave.

"Sabretooth." Ororo's voice came over his comlink.

"Shoulda known that fall wouldn'ta killed him," Logan muttered.

"I want him." Her voice was colder than Bobby's wall.

"Think you can take him down?"

"Oh, yes." She sounded certain, perhaps even eager.

"Then do it."

"Dr. Grey --" Bobby said.

"Leave her." It hurt to say those words, but the cold, commanding part of him knew it was the right thing to do. He braced for his first engagement -- an Asian-looking man with porcupine quills rushed toward him, apparently intent on engulfing him in a bear hug.

Logan grinned. Let him try.

A quick punch-kick combination sent the porcupine man to the ground, and then he was fully into the fight, some combat instinct taking over, so that he didn't think, didn't analyze, only reacted.

Punch, kick, block. The familiar flow kept his body occupied while his mind processed other inputs from the battle.

To his right, Peter made a good wall -- but a wall that struck back. A pile of bodies was already forming at Peter's feet.

Marie, fighting to his left, had apparently taken an acrobat's power, because she danced and twirled and struck like some movie version of a martial artist on speed.

The hair on his nape prickled, and he smelled electricity in the air.

"Let's hear _you_ scream." Ororo's voice through the comlink carried a vindictive tone he'd never heard from her before.

The flash of lightning blinded him for a moment. The stench of burning flesh assaulted his nostrils, and he nearly gagged.

"Iceman," Ororo said. "Put him on ice."

Logan risked a glance aside, saw a still-smoking corpse, and then saw an ice block beginning to form around it.

"Good work," he said into the comlink. "And good thinking." The ice block would keep Sabretooth contained and out of the fight.

That did nothing to stop the rest of the army, though.

- - - - -

The world returned to Jean with a sharp kick to her thigh and a heartfelt curse as whoever had tripped over her stumbled to regain his balance.

She blinked the battle into focus, realized that she lay directly in the path of another handful of Magneto's brotherhood, rapidly pounding their way toward the laboratory facility.

Rather than stop them, she simply levitated herself up, over their heads so they ran under her. This vantage point allowed her to see the entire battle. It also would draw her attacker's attention, she hoped, as she strengthened her psychic shields. All she needed was a location.

She saw Kitty approaching a dark-haired woman at the edge of the island. The woman tried to punch Kitty, but overbalanced when her fist went through Kitty instead of connecting as hard as she'd intended it to.

_Are you awake already?_ The voice held the same sense of disdain her attacker had earlier displayed when their minds were connected. _Pretty good for a second-rate telepath. I'll just have to lock you down permanently this time._

The contact was enough to allow Jean to locate the "speaker" -- a woman with purple streaks in her hair. It was all she needed.

_I may be a second-rate telepath,_ Jean shot back, _but I'm a kick-ass telekinetic._

And she picked the woman up and sent her flying into the concrete wall of the laboratory. The telepathic contact broke when the woman lost consciousness.

"You back among the living, Jeannie?" There was no mistaking Logan's low voice through the comlink.

"For the moment, at least."

"Then get back on the line."

- - - - -

"More south," Callisto said. "Almost directly south."

Scott banked the Blackbird, following her directions. "We're about to cross into Baja California."

"What is Magneto doing in Mexico?" Hank asked.

Scott knew it was a rhetorical question, but still a valid one. "Maybe he thinks the Mexican authorities won't extradite him back to the States."

"Do you think they'll extradite us if we get caught?"

"You're Secretary of Mutant Affairs, Hank. I'm sure they will."

"That just makes it worse. A U.S. official coming into another country illegally…"

Scott carefully hid his grin. Hank had always been a worrier. At least now he had something concrete to worry about.

"We're close," Callisto said. "A few miles, maybe. Do you think he knows we're coming?"

"If he doesn't now, he will soon," Scott replied as he dropped the Blackbird to just a few thousand feet. "He'll sense the Blackbird a mile away. At least. Even with the stealth mode engaged."

"Should we land and approach him on foot, then?"

Scott glanced over his shoulder at her. "We're not approaching him. Hank and I will."

"You know what I can do," Callisto protested.

"I know. But I don't know how you'll react in combat. I do know how Hank will. Besides, I need you in the Blackbird in case things go badly. You'll have to call Charles and get the rest of the team down here."

"There." Hank pointed ahead of them and after a moment, Scott saw the glint that had caught Hank's eye, Mexican sunlight dancing on the helmet Magneto wore to keep prying telepaths at bay.

"Let's see if he'll let us land," Scott murmured, and banked the Blackbird, bringing it around to land a few hundred feet from where Magneto stood.

"Do you think he wants to talk?" Callisto asked.

"We'll find out." Scott settled his visor in place. "Call Charles if things go badly."

Then he started for the rear hatch, Hank half a step behind.

"Ah, Cyclops. Mr. Secretary. How good of you to join me."

"I would've thought you'd be with your brotherhood," Scott said.

"They have no need of my presence," Magneto answered. "They're quite capable of accomplishing their objective without me."

"They'll have to," Scott said, and tapped the control on his glove.


	25. Chapter 25

When Logan told Jean to get back on the line, he'd expected her to float over and land beside him. He hadn't counted on a flying man with bat-like wings in place of arms swooping in from one side to bash her out of the sky. He winced, and felt oddly thankful that Jean and Scott weren't together at the moment. Maybe Scott wouldn't yell at him because Jean had been knocked down twice in the fight, but no other X-Men had.

But Jean had handled the telepath who attacked her. He had faith that she could handle the bat-winged man, too. He turned away from where she'd fallen, took a breath, and then paused. He knew that scent, the one he barely caught amid the dozens, hundreds of scents kicked up during this battle. But who was it?

A boot landing in his stomach brought him back to the immediate. He'd have to figure out whose scent that was later. He caught the foot, twisted it, saw the big man it was attached to. The man's grin faded, and Logan let a feral grin form, then sliced downward sharply. The foot came away from the leg and the man's scream pierced Logan's ears.

Logan dropped the foot, pivoted to face the next attacker, and snarled when he saw the flaming car streak across the sky. If they'd had any doubt where Pyro's sympathies lie, that pathetic excuse of an attack destroyed them.

"Iceman!"

"What?" Bobby turned from where he'd been creating slippery surfaces under the oncoming army. It wouldn't have been Logan's first choice, but it was working, at least as a delaying tactic.

"Think you can handle your hot-headed friend?" With an upward glance, Logan indicated another flaming car.

"No problem." Bobby sounded confident.

"Then take 'im down before he figures out better ways to use his power."

Logan moved to cover more space on the line as Bobby broke off. A heartbeat's glance told him that the army had thinned considerably and the line still held. But the bulk of the army still waited behind, probably for some signal that the defenders were tiring.

They'd get it before long, Logan thought. He and Peter could fight most of the day without tiring, but Kitty and Marie weren't seasoned fighters. Storm was holding her own, but still focused on -- what was that?

He had to laugh when he saw members of the army flying up, right and left, in a cartoon-like manner. Whoever or whatever was causing that parting seemed to be coming directly for him, and he braced for the impact.

Then he relaxed when he saw the cause. "What took you so long?"

Jean fell into the line, taking over Bobby's old position. "Had to take surface streets."

The shudder in the ground made him look up. "Juggernaut."

"He's not heading for us," Jean said. "He's going for -- Jimmy." Logan stared at her, and she clarified, "The boy who's the source of the cure. And the control serum."

"I can get him," Kitty said.

"Do it," Logan ordered, and she turned to run toward the building, falling in a few steps behind Juggernaut. He tried not to think that Juggernaut towered a foot over Kitty in height, let alone that he out-massed her by at least her own weight again. Kitty was an X-Man and would call if she needed help.

"How many of these people can you contain?" Logan asked Jean.

"Contain?" She shook her head. "If they're all pushing against my shield, and without an ice wall, I don't know."

"Problem is, the big guns are waiting for us to get tired. Got to do something about them."

"How about --" Jean broke off to send a woman rushing at her face-first into the ground, without benefit of telekinesis.

"Cyke teach you that move?"

Jean just grinned. "I have an idea. Storm," she said into her comlink. "Think you can call up a hurricane wind? Not hard, but enough to spin some people around? I'll give you a clear target."

Logan was too busy deflecting other attacks to pay close attention to what she was doing, but startled cries and angry shouts, coupled with a sudden decrease in the number of opponents he faced, made him look up. And up.

He laughed aloud when he saw the bulk of the army suspended in mid-air, being whirled around the center of a small hurricane. He shouldn't be surprised, he thought, given how Jean and Storm had handled the jet on their way from Boston to Alkali Lake. For a brief moment, his stomach clenched in sympathy -- whether he'd ever been a pilot or not seemed settled.

Those few of the mutant army not included in the hurricane were quickly subdued, and Logan shouted for Captain Glasser.

"Here," Glasser approached, still wary, his rifle trained on the maelstrom above them.

"I hope you've got a bunch of zip-ties," Logan said. "They'll be dizzy when they get down, but they won't stay that way forever."

"We're ready," Glasser said.

"And that one over there," Jean jerked a thumb over her shoulder, "with the purple hair needs to be sedated. She's a powerful telepath. Your medic can set that up, I'm sure."

"They can help," Logan added with a nod at Peter, Marie, and Bobby, who approached with Pyro's dragon-etched lighter in his hand.

"Wolverine." Kitty's voice in his comlink. "You need to get in here."

- - - - -

Cyclops didn't need to touch his visor anymore?

Magneto flung his hands forward in a desperate attempt to counter the force blasts headed his way, the force blasts he knew were powerful enough to accomplish his goals.

Magnetic energy met force beams far too close to him for comfort. He'd have to increase his power level enough to buy him breathing room. He needed time to alter the flow of energy between them, to use his power to adjust and tweak Cyclops's own.

Arclight's shock wave blasts would've been the ideal choice for this work, but her power wasn't omega-level, as Cyclops's was. All Cyclops needed was to have his power raised to its fullest potential. So he'd given Phoenix -- such a lovely name -- the information he'd gleaned from Worthington Laboratories. She'd done exactly as he expected, and now his plan needed only time.

Time that he might not get, he thought, when he saw the traitor Beast running toward him.

Then Callisto emerged from the Blackbird, and in a blur of movement, caught up to Beast and punched him. No single punch would've been enough to stop the Beast, but he couldn't count how many of them landed in the space of a few seconds. Beast collapsed, and Magneto smiled.

He had time.

Cyclops was determined to stop him.

Therefore, he would succeed.


	26. Chapter 26

"I'll kill you, bitch!"

Logan didn't recognize the voice, but the anger in it, plus the loud crashes and bangs that punctuated it, spurred him to a run.

He rounded a corner in the too-sterile corridor and saw Kitty dodging blows from Juggernaut. Then she darted in closer to him, and Logan winced, expecting to see her splattered, but she grabbed Juggernaut's armor and fell backward, pulling him down on top of her.

His heart clenched. Then he saw her rise, ghostlike, from the floor. Juggernaut lay face down in the floor.

In the floor?

He looked closer and had to grin. She'd left Juggernaut in the floor all right, phased him halfway through. "Good work."

"He'll break loose in a minute. Less. But he's not the only problem." Kitty turned toward the room behind her, and Logan remembered the scent he'd detected earlier.

"Deathstrike."

"Wolverine." She stood with her hand on the shoulder of a bald boy who had to be Jimmy, the root cause of the battle raging outside.

He heard the floor cracking. "Help me take him out, then we talk?"

Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded as Juggernaut broke free. Logan sidestepped a bit of concrete, and extended his claws. One swipe cleaved through the straps that bound Juggernaut's helmet to his chestplate.

Juggernaut sprang to his feet with a speed and grace only possible in a mutant. "You again?"

"This time I'm not alone." Damn. He must really be getting into the team spirit if he'd say something like that. Then again, it felt … right … to have Deathstrike by his side. Just what had they been, before Stryker?

He was about to order Kitty to trap Juggernaut in the floor again when Deathstrike lunged forward and hooked her slimmer, more delicate claws under the helmet. A flick of her wrist and the helmet flew upward and off Juggernaut's head, leaving raw skin in its wake.

Juggernaut roared and punched at Deathstrike. She dodged, mostly, and Logan dove in to ram his claws into Juggernaut's right hamstring. The other man out-massed him significantly, and when Juggernaut swung his leg, Logan went flying. His claws ripped through Juggernaut's flesh, and as he hit the wall, Logan saw Juggernaut's foot land back on the floor and give way under him.

Deathstrike had been waiting for that, and she plunged her claws into Juggernaut's eyes.

Logan winced -- he knew those claws had gone straight through the eyes and into the brain even before she withdrew them and flicked the blood and brain clinging to them aside.

Kitty had turned away, and determinedly kept the boy's head turned, too, despite his repeated attempts to look. Logan didn't blame her. It might have been a fast way to die, but it wasn't pretty.

"Now we talk."

Logan stepped around the body on the floor. "What's your interest in the boy?"

She glanced over her shoulder, as though to make certain that Kitty and the boy were still there. "I wish him no harm. I merely wish him to provide a service for me. At the end of that service, he is free to do as he will."

"What service, and how long will it take?"

Another glance over her shoulder. "Privately."

He followed as she led him a few feet away. The corridor terminated in the boy's room, so it wasn't likely that Kitty could take him anywhere without their knowing. Deathstrike had come to the same conclusion, apparently, but she still lowered her voice when she spoke.

"I wish the boy to stay with me until I die."

It was the last thing he expected her to say, and his shock must've shown in his face, because he heard Kitty take a step toward them. He held up a hand without looking at her, heard her step back. Neither she nor the boy needed to hear this. "Die?"

"Adamantium poisoning. Without our healing factor, the adamantium on our skeletons would leech into our blood and kill us. The boy makes that possible for me."

"Lots more pleasant ways to die than that."

"It is the only option left to me. My agony will be my penance."

Penance for what, Logan wanted to ask. Being born a mutant? But he recognized more steel in the set of her jaw than adamantium and knew that arguing would be futile.

"I envy you, Logan-san." He vaguely recognized the Japanese honorific from somewhere, but had no idea what it meant. "Without memories, you are free to begin your life anew. I must end mine in disgrace."

Disgrace? No, not disgrace, there was something… The Japanese honorific tickled at his mind and memory, and then he had it. "There is another option. Seppuku."

Her eyes widened slightly, and he saw hope in them, the hope of an easier atonement than slow death. The abdominal cut was agonizing -- Logan knew that from personal experience -- but the agony lasted only until the head was cut off. Then she shook her head.

"I have no kaishakunin."

The word echoed in his mind, a word he should not know but that somehow had meaning to him. And he knew its meaning, as well. "I would be honored to act as your second."

"Even your claws cannot slice through the adamantium on my spine."

"But I can cut through the disks between the vertebrae." And just why was he suggesting this? He didn't want to kill her.

The light in her eyes gave him the answer. He didn't want to kill her, but she wanted to die. Therefore, he would kill her, despite her death severing the only other tie to his life before Stryker.

Again her expression sobered. "But I can still recover from that."

"So we modify tradition a bit. After I cut your head off, I can jam a piece of metal through your heart and stop it that way."

"You did that once before, or close enough to it, and then brought me back. What will prevent someone else doing the same in the future?"

The answer was simple, if crude. "I'll toss your body into the bay after. No one will find it, and --"

Her simple nod told him she understood what he couldn't add, that the sea life in the bay would help ensure her permanent death. "Then you need to find the piece that will kill me."

"They don't need to see this, do they?"

She glanced over her shoulder to where Kitty and the boy still stood, waiting with more patience than Logan knew Kitty had. "No. I will see them out while you find what you need. You have my word."

Logan nodded, and via the comlink told Kitty to follow Deathstrike out. While they were gone, he scouted for a bit of metal appropriate for his needs. Finally, he settled on ripping through a section of concrete block wall and removing a length of the rebar used to reinforce it. With his claws, he could sharpen a rough point. He wouldn't want to actually kill her with it, but given that her spinal cord would be mostly severed, she wouldn't feel the impact of the rebar anyway.

He looked up when he heard her steps, and held up the rebar. "This'll do."

She paused several feet away and gave him a formal bow and thanks in Japanese. Again, the words registered when they shouldn't have. He'd been in Canada for fifteen years; why should he understand Japanese?

He returned the bow, and gestured for her to sit. She knelt in what he recognized, somehow, as a traditional ritual pose for private seppuku. "Sayonara, Logan-san. It has been my honor to know you."

"Sayonara, Yuriko-chan." Where had that endearment come from? He took up his place somewhat behind her, extended one claw. Unlike when they'd fought at Alkali Lake, her hair was pinned tightly up, and his gaze rested on the back of her neck. He'd have to strike perfectly, to hit the disk rather than a vertebra, and suddenly he knew he'd performed this service before, with a katana in his hand, not a claw extending from his hand.

She opened her shirt, extended one claw, and with an exhale, sliced left to right across her abdomen. It was a point of pride for her, he knew, not to cry out, to hold her body still as she bowed her head, exposing her neck.

He knew how to make the slice, and did, quickly. He heard the scrape of metal against metal as his claw brushed one of her vertebrae. He'd cut true, though, and her head fell forward, not off, still attached to her body by a small strip of skin.

Logan moved to catch her body before it pitched to the floor, snatched up the rebar where he'd rested it beside them, and with one quick movement slipped the point between her ribs and into her heart. He heard it stop beating, fought down the well of angry grief that surged inside him.

For just a moment, he sat there, cradling her lifeless body. He couldn't shake the feeling that they should've been more to each other than circumstances had allowed them to be.

- - - - -

Jean tried not to listen to the thoughts of the National Guardsmen who had gathered to secure the members of Magneto's army as she lowered them from her telekinetic juggling routine.

Most of them thought that her telekinesis was kind of cool, maybe a throwback to watching poltergeist movies. Or they'd thought that before she levitated a thousand people, more or less, and kept them there. They hadn't realized that Ororo's storm helped in more ways than one. Or else they didn't care. Either way, the discomfort in their thoughts started to grate her nerves.

Nonetheless, six of them had stepped up with a large supply of zip-ties, and the work proceeded quickly. Other Guardsmen assisted with clean up, and she'd made certain that their medic had set up a sedative for the purple-haired psychic woman.

"Dr. Grey." She turned at the sound of Kitty's voice, saw her rushing up with Jimmy in tow.

"Stay back," Jean said. "I don't want to drop all these guys."

Kitty stopped in her tracks, keeping Jimmy from advancing. "Good point. But when you're done, can you look at him? I think Juggernaut got a hand on him at some point."

"Will do," Jean said. "Or you can talk to the medic over there, next to the woman with the purple hair."

"Okay," Kitty began, and the ground rumbled beneath them. She blinked. "Earthquake?"

"Go make sure there's no one left in the building," Jean told Kitty.

Storm touched down beside her. "If the quake gets worse, we may want to evacuate the island."

"It's Logan's call."

"Isn't he done with what he's doing yet?"

"I don't know," Jean answered. "I saw Kitty a moment ago, and he'd --"

The ground rumbled again, stronger, and both women struggled to retain their balance.

"It's going to be a bad one," Storm said.

"There's Logan." Jean frowned when she saw him emerge from the building, a bloody, cloth-covered bundle in his arms. A whisper of a touch to his mind confirmed her suspicion that he carried a body.

With a snarl at one of the National Guardsmen who offered to take the body away, Logan took the body to one edge of the island, apparently unaffected by the rumblings that continued, and paused a moment, stillness in chaos, before throwing it into the sea.

With the brusque manner she'd come to associate with him, he turned away and jogged over to them. "Get the team together," he said. "We've got to be ready to evac on a moment's notice. Storm, get the jet warmed up and be ready. All non-essential X-Men are to be on board and ready to go on my signal."

"But Jean needs --"

Jean shook her head. "I can hold them up."

With a last frown, Ororo turned and ran toward the jet.

"You okay, Jeannie?"

"I'm fine. Are you okay?" It was the closest she could come to asking if he wanted to talk about what had happened.

"Fine." So he didn't. At least not now. "I'll get the others together. But if I give the word to evac, you drop them and get your pretty little butt back to the jet."


	27. Chapter 27

The first tremors beneath his feet made Magneto smile. It began.

Hundreds of miles north of him, a young woman from Arizona with powers similar to his stood waiting. With her was another woman who generated electricity the way Cyclops generated solar power.

Polaris waited, and when the moment was right, Eve would channel electricity into Polaris, which she would convert to magnetic force.

What he and Cyclops did here began the process. Polaris and Eve would ensure its completion.

All he had to do now was coax Cyclops to full power, and maintain his own channeling of energy into the earth beneath him.

Magneto summoned reserves of will and focused them at his young opponent. Cyclops was a strategist, a tactician, but he didn't fully understand his new powers yet, else he'd never engage in this battle.

His smile deepened when he saw Cyclops pull his visor off. Yes, there was the increase in power from the young man.

Excellent.

- - - - -

When Callisto knocked Hank out, Scott knew he'd lost.

He'd counted on Hank to distract Magneto. Now, not only did he not have Hank's distraction, he faced two-to-one odds against the strongest mutant he'd ever known, other than the professor, and a woman who could knock him out the way she had Hank before he could blink.

Not, of course, that he would blink now and give Magneto the upper hand.

But why wasn't Callisto attacking him and ending the fight? She stood to one side, well out of range of his blasts, apparently waiting for something. But what?

He stumbled when the earth moved beneath him, struggled to maintain his attack on Magneto even as he fell to one knee. It was the perfect moment for Callisto to strike, but still she stood aside.

What was going on?

There was one way to find out.

He closed his eyes, ending the blasts, felt the waves of Magneto's power wash over him, shove at the few bits of metal on his uniform. Why wasn't he slammed back from the impact?

His power safely off, he opened his eyes again. Magneto had lowered his hands, and was looking at Callisto. She had a phone to her ear, probably satellite rather than cellular, Scott thought idly, because who in their right mind would put a cell tower in the middle of nowhere?

Callisto said something Scott couldn't hear over the rumbling of the earth. Then Magneto shouted, "I suggest you move rather quickly, Cyclops."

When Scott didn't answer, Magneto gestured, indicating Scott should look behind him. It was the oldest trick in the book, but Scott saw the other man's indulgent yet triumphant smile, and somehow knew it wasn't a trick.

The ground shaking beneath him, he turned to look over his shoulder, and felt his stomach fall to his feet.

Behind him, earth collapsed in a rough line, a line that was aimed straight for where he stood. He dove to his right, instinctively seeking the mainland side of the gaping earth and the Blackbird.

Even as he did, his mind stubbornly refused to accept what was happening. He'd heard avalanches during his childhood in Alaska, but this was like a thousand avalanches all wrapped into one. His head throbbed and his ears ached and his teeth rattled in his jaws and all he wanted was to get away, get to safety.

Scott ran toward the Blackbird, stopped when he saw the Blackbird peeling apart like a banana. The shriek of tortured metal barely registered against the revved-up diesel engine noise of the earthquake. Magneto's work, no doubt.

And then he remembered Hank.

Hank, lying on the very edge of the far side of the vast chasm that only grew wider with each passing second.

Scott dashed toward the chasm. He could jump it, easily enough, even now, but how would he get back across with Hank --

A fist slammed into his stomach.

Callisto had hit him while running at him full speed, and it was only thanks to the armor in his uniform that she hadn't ripped half his guts out with the blow. As it was, he staggered back and tried to regain his balance.

She was relentless, though, punching and kicking at blinding speed. He lashed out with one foot, attempting to trip her, but she dodged and swept his other foot out from under him.

That's when she made her mistake -- she stopped to grin down at him. "Loser."

He had to get to Hank, and to do that, he had to get through her. He could do that.

He turned on his blasts at full power.

- - - - -

Magneto watched Callisto's body disintegrate in one of Cyclops's blasts.

Surprising. He hadn't thought the boy capable of such brute force. Wolverine, yes, but not Cyclops.

That meant it was time to leave. But his work was done. The earthquake had begun, and when the rupture reached far enough, Polaris and Eve would see to the rest. There was no stopping what had begun now.

Focusing his power on the strips of steel woven through his uniform, he rose into the air and glided toward Cyclops, just close enough that he could be heard.

"All of mutantkind thanks you for what you've enabled today. Those of us in Mutania shall remember this day as Cyclops Day."

Then he floated away, across the chasm and then north along the splintering sliver of land.

- - - - -

Mutania? Cyclops Day? What the hell was that about?

Scott had no time for questions. He had to get Hank. He scrambled to his feet, not even glancing at the smoking remains that had been Callisto.

The chasm gaped wide, and grew wider with each passing moment. No way he could jump it now, even with a running start. Maybe a pole vaulter could, but he was no pole vaulter and even if he were, how would he get Hank back across the chasm?

A new roar hit his ears like continual thunder, and he turned south, searching for the source.

Oh, God.

Angry ocean attacked the chasm, claiming its own share of calamity.

He yelled for Hank, his voice drowned by the rush of water. Hank lay far too close to the edge of the far side. One good impact from a wave could pull him into the churning current, and he'd be lost.

Only one thing to do. Scott focused on Hank, turned his power on to force-only, and much lower than he'd been able to before the serum, and used that power to push Hank back, away from the edge, away from the violent, hungry water.

And then adrenaline passed and Scott fell to his knees, overwhelmed as realization sank in.

He and Magneto had fought along the San Andreas Fault. Somehow, Magneto's powers and his had combined in a way that had trigged a massive earthquake, worse than any others he'd ever heard of. So big, in fact, that it had actually moved the Pacific Plate.

This little strip of Baja California might be deserted, but further north lay some of the most populous cities in the United States. San Diego. Los Angeles. San Jose. San Francisco. Oakland.

He remembered Alex babbling about the quakes of '89 and '94, how even though they were massive, not many people had died, certainly not compared to the great quake of 1906, thanks to much improved building technology. No amount of building technology could withstand this. Thousands would die. Hundreds of thousands more would be injured or homeless.

Cyclops Day.


	28. Chapter 28

I still don't own them, but I am enjoying playing with them. They, on the other hand, probably wish I'd never started.

X X X X X

_Jean._

The professor's voice in her mind was unusually sober, and she opened to his mental touch. Before Alkali Lake, she couldn't have handled the contact while juggling so many members of the mutant brotherhood army at the same time.

_We're all fine,_ she told him, because obviously an earthquake as massive as the one that still rocked the island had made the news around the world.

_Can you leave?_

_Now?_ She glanced around the island. Logan still stood beside her, sniffing the air, and frowning. National Guardsmen were preparing to evacuate as well as transport prisoners -- any thoughts they'd had about reconverting Alcatraz to its original purpose were gone. _We still have a lot of the army to secure._

_Hank is injured, and I can't find any sign of Scott._

_Where's Hank?_

_Baja California._ He gave her coordinates.

"Logan, we have to go."

"Why?"

"Hank's hurt, and Scott --" She couldn't finish the thought. She let the army fall slowly to the ground and ran for the Blackbird. Logan lingered long enough to say a few words to the Guardsman standing closest to them, then caught up to her in the Blackbird.

"What's going on, Jeannie?"

"Ororo, get us out of here and headed south. Baja California." Jean turned back to Logan. "The professor contacted me. Hank's there, hurt, and the professor can't find any sign of Scott."

That her voice sounded steady shocked her. The professor couldn't find any sign of Scott. That meant he was either injured so badly his mind was unresponsive, or he was -- no, she wouldn't even think that, not until there was evidence, one way or another.

Her words silenced the rest of the team, and Jean settled into the co-pilot's seat, willing the Blackbird to go faster. As soon as it was safe, she knew Ororo would go supersonic, but even that wouldn't be fast enough. She needed to know what had happened.

"Jean." Ororo's quiet voice broke into her thoughts. "Stop pushing."

"Huh?" It wasn't the most articulate question she'd ever asked, she thought, but under the circumstances, she hoped she could be forgiven.

Ororo smiled gently. "Most people don't actually push the thing they hope would go faster. You keep trying."

"Oh. Sorry." Jean felt the blush warming her cheeks, then felt Logan's hand rest on her shoulder.

"Easy, Jeannie," he murmured. "We'll be there as soon as we can, and we'll do whatever we can."

His simple statement offered something solid for her to cling to amidst her churning emotions, and she reached up to squeeze his hand in silent thanks. Now if only she could keep that steadiness until they reached Baja.

- - - - -

Even from his seat behind Jean, Logan spotted the twisted hulk that had been the other Blackbird before anyone else did. He suspected, given Ororo's and Jean's quiet exclamations and sudden jumps in pulse, that they were too overwhelmed by the sight of the Gulf of California extending north past Los Angeles, and the destruction they'd seen along both sides of the newly enlarged gulf.

"There's the jet," he said quietly. "East side of the gulf --" he leaned forward to peer between the two women out the windscreen --"I see a blue spec on the west side. Gotta be the furball."

"Where do I land?" Ororo asked.

"West side," Logan said. He saw Jean flinch, but then she nodded. "It's too unstable to stay for long, so drop me and Jeannie off, then the rest of you check out the Blackbird and look for Scott."

Minutes later, Logan followed Jean down the ramp. She'd grabbed her medical kit, the one modeled after the crash kits used by special forces medics, and left the jet without a word.

Every line of her body spoke of tension contained, and her expression was stoic, determined. Treat the living first. She knew it as well as he did.

They both stumbled as the ground shook again beneath them. Jean recovered sooner than he did, simply by levitating herself off the ground. He'd deal with the rumbling ground beneath them rather than ask her for a lift as well.

She knelt beside Hank, gave him a fast examination. "Nothing's grossly broken," she reported in a clinical tone he hadn't heard from her before. "May be a few fractured ribs, though."

"Can we move him?" Logan asked. "This strip isn't stable yet."

To prove his point, another rumble filled the air and he stepped wider to better maintain his balance.

Hank stirred, blinked owlishly at them. "Jeannie? Where's Scott?"

"We were hoping you could tell us," Jean said. Her voice caught, and Logan finished, "What do you remember?"

"We left Washington, picked up Callisto at the mansion and used her ability to track Magneto here. Scott kept Magneto occupied while I went to knock him out." Hank frowned, obviously concentrating. "But something -- someone -- pummeled me senseless before I could get to Magneto."

"You didn't see anything else?" Jean asked.

Hank shook his head, then winced. "But it feels like I've been hit in the chest with a battering ram."

"Worse," Logan said. "Scott's power. I recognize that pattern of bruising," he added to Jean's inquiring glance. "He hit me with it in the Danger Room. Harder than that."

"Why would he blast Hank? That doesn't make sense."

Logan looked around. "Maybe he pushed him away from the edge. How much longer do you need, Jeannie?"

"Not too long, why?" She was already strapping Hank's ribs.

"Because if I remember right, we're likely to get hit with a tsunami any minute. That's before the big one that'll head west. Christ. Hawaii. Japan." He reeled under the images his mind gave him. A quarter million had died in the Indonesian tsunami of '04. How many more might die as a result of this tsunami that would include Japan as well as Indonesia? He didn't want to think about it. He couldn't stop it, could only mourn the loss. And why would he mourn that loss?

Ororo's voice in his comlink brought him back to the here and now. "We're not finding anything," she said quietly. "You might want to come over and see what you can scent."

"Won't help," he said.

"Why not?" Ororo's voice was sharp, and he'd seen Jean stiffen at his words as well.

"All I'm scenting is dust and water. The air's saturated with it. Super-saturated. I can't even smell the furball, much less a slight trail."

"I can't sense him. Anywhere." The desolation in Jean's voice flayed his heart anew. First Yuriko, now Scott. And those thousands of nameless, faceless people who'd died in the quake or would die as a result of tsunamis and collateral damage.

Just how much grief could one heart bear?

"Hank, let me in." Now she sounded desperate.

"Why?" Hank blinked at her.

"Even when you're unconscious, the memory records impressions, images. Maybe you know something you don't know you know."

Privately, Logan thought Jean was grasping at straws, but Hank simply nodded, and Jean brought her hands to Hank's temples, just as she'd done to him the night he'd arrived at the mansion.

He still remembered the touch of her mind on his, the gentle, tentative touch that reminded him of a whisper of a kiss stolen in moonlight. He'd fallen for her then, in that moment of touching minds. It had taken far too long to realize he'd fallen for the ideal image of her, not the real woman.

"Nothing," Jean said after a moment. "Just the impact of Scott's blasts moving him away from the avalanches."

"Perhaps he wasn't so lucky," Hank said. "If he fell --"

"Stop, Hank. Just stop. I know what would've happened and I'm trying not to think about it, thanks."

Jean was close to breaking, and Logan reached over to rest a hand on her shoulder again. "We have to go, Jean. Let's get him onto the Blackbird and go home."

- - - - -

Jean got through the next couple of days on autopilot, attending to her duties as the school physician and the team physician more from habit and duty than from real concern for those she treated. Jimmy wasn't injured at all, despite Kitty's fears. Hank's injuries weren't as bad as she'd feared, so she'd released him to return to his own duties as Secretary of Mutant Affairs.

Those duties were even more onerous than her own. The day after the battle at Alcatraz and the mega-quake, Magneto had appeared on television to explain just what he'd done and that the sliver of land that had been coastal California and the Baja peninsula was now Mutania, a haven for mutants. Humans still living on the island were welcome to leave or be subject to mutant governance. At least for the first month. After that, he intended to lock the island down, preventing human travel to or from it.

Against the backdrop of half a million dead in California, Japan and Indonesia from the tsunami that had swept across the Pacific Ocean and back, Magneto's threats looked almost laughable. Jean knew better, but at the moment, she couldn't bring herself to care.

Scott was dead.

She hadn't wanted to believe it as they loaded Hank onto the Blackbird and brought him back to Westchester. She hadn't wanted to believe it since, but it had been three days, and he hadn't called, so she forced herself to believe it.

Scott was dead.

She knew she'd have to face the reality of that eventually, face going into his room -- it should've been their room, still -- and cleaning out his things. Every time she considered doing it, her mind rebelled and turned her away before she could open the door.

Instead, she spent most of her time in her lab and the infirmary. Neither had ever been as clean before as they were now, nor as neatly organized. The simple, repetitive tasks involved in clearing cabinets, wiping them down with a bleach solution, and returning things to their proper places brought some calm to her thoughts.

"You done?"

She turned from placing the last of the sterile gauze pads on a shelf at the sound of Logan's voice.

"Almost," she said. "I still need to clean my office."

"Uh-huh. It can wait. Come on."

"Where? What's wrong?"

Logan grinned just a little. "Nothing's wrong, except you've been hermiting for days. Maybe it's time to get out for a bit."

"I don't need to get out. I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Jean. You're grieving, and you're letting that grief bottle up inside. It's not healthy, Doctor."

"So says the man who heals." She shouldn't be bitter toward him when he was only trying to help her.

"So says the man who has tickets to this afternoon's Yankees game."

"A baseball game?" She couldn't believe she'd heard him correctly. "You want me to go to a baseball game? Now?"

"Yeah. A baseball game. Now." He took out a cigar, stared at it for a moment, put it back in his

pocket. "Not just for you. I need it, too."

She just raised an eyebrow. "You do."

"I do. Been dealing with the brass and the suits in Washington, and it's a pain in the backside. Only thing that makes it bearable is Corsair. We both need a break, and that's what friends do for each other."

"Force them to take time away, even when they don't want to?" Now that she was past her initial shock at the suggestion, Jean found herself wanting to get out of the mansion, get away from all the somber, grief-filled thoughts.

"Something like that, yeah."

"Who're they playing?"

"The Blue Jays."

Jean couldn't help a slight grin. "So we're on opposite sides, then?"

Logan snorted. "I never made it to Toronto. Don't give a damn about their team."

Jean chuckled. It felt odd to laugh in the middle of her grief, but she knew that life went on, and she'd have to laugh the first time sometime. It was good to do it with someone who wanted to help her.

"Let's go. Got just enough time to get to the stadium, find parking, get hot dogs and sodas, and find our seats before the opening pitch."

Still she hesitated, felt a stab of guilt at going out to have a good time so soon after losing the man who'd meant the world to her.

"C'mon." Logan took the gauze pads from her hand, set them aside. "They'll still be here when we get back."

- - - - -

Much to Logan's surprise, Jean had simply handed him the keys to her car when they got to the garage. Apparently, having decided to come to the game, she'd also decided to hand all the details over to him as well.

That didn't mean she was enthusiastic about doing it, he mused. She'd sat in silence the entire drive from Westchester to Yankee Stadium, watching the miles scroll past. She'd been silent while he parked the car and while they made their way into the stadium and to their seats on the third baseline. He'd let her get away with silence so far. If she were still silent on the way home, though, he'd have to push.

"Why'd you bring me here?" Jean asked during the bottom of the fourth inning. The Yankees were up by two, and she'd surprised him by screaming and cheering so much that he'd had to get her a second soda already. He was just grateful her voice was pitched low enough that her shouts didn't hurt.

"Figured you might need a change of scenery. And a friend."

She studied him for a long moment, and again he felt that whisper-soft caress of her mind touching his. Maybe someday he'd get used to that. Logan certainly liked it better than the almost clinical approach Xavier had used when he'd tried to help Logan get his memories back.

Jean only nodded, and returned her attention to the game. Even with the sensory overload he'd expected from the game, he could tell that she'd relaxed after that mental touch. That was progress, at least.

She didn't stand during the seventh inning stretch, which by itself wouldn't have made him concerned, but he didn't hear her joining in the chorus of "Take Me out to the Ballgame," and considering how she'd shouted and cheered for the rest of the game, he had to sit down next to her, watching.

Her lips moved, but he couldn't hear her voice over the din of the crowd. She sat staring at the ass of the guy in front of her, apparently unaware of the tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Jeannie?" He put a hand on her shoulder. "Jean, talk to me."

"I should've known." She still didn't look at him, but at least he could make out what she said. "I should've known."

"Known what?" She had an M.D. and a Ph.D., and even so, he could usually understand what she was saying. At the moment, he had no idea what she meant.

Finally, she turned to face him, and the naked grief in her eyes sent a lump into his throat. He didn't know why, but he was certain no one had ever, would ever, grieve him the way she grieved Scott now.

"I should've felt it when he died. Shouldn't I? I mean, we weren't as close as we had been, but I was never closer to anyone else in my life than I was to him."

"You were hundreds of miles away," Logan said. "Even the professor can't feel people that far away without Cerebro's help."

"I should've felt something. Dammit, Logan, he shouldn't have died alone."

Instinctively, he pulled her into his arms, holding her while she cried.

It was what he'd wanted when he first came to the mansion -- Jean in his arms. Now, instead of feeling the mad rush of desire that had led him to kiss her in the Canadian woods, he just wanted to protect her, help her.

"Everyone dies alone, Jean." He spoke softly but directly into her ear. "That last step can't be taken with anyone else."

"I didn't mean that, not really." She took a shaky breath. "I meant, he should've known that I love him. And I should've been with him as far as he'd let me go."

"Dying with him wouldn't solve anything."

"No, and he wouldn't have let me do that." She sounded completely certain of that, even with her voice roughened by tears.

His arms tightened around her, and he gave in to the urge to kiss the top of her head. "He knew you love him. And he loved you, right up to the end."

But she shook her head against his chest. "He didn't know. He doubted. I made him doubt."

"You never did anything wrong." Though it wasn't for lack of trying. His lack of trying. She might have made Scott doubt, but only because of what he'd done. He'd pushed where he shouldn't have pushed.

"Yes, I did, I didn't --"

"You didn't," Logan repeated, more firmly. "I did. I didn't respect what you had with him. I should have. I'm sorry."

Jean pulled back to look up at him, and he brushed tears off her cheek with his palm. "Logan --"

He shook his head. "Don't get maudlin. There's only so much of this emotional crap I can take at one time."

Her watery laugh was the sweetest sound he'd heard in a long time. "I won't overload you."

He searched her eyes. "You better?"

"Yeah, I think. Thanks."

Logan brushed a strand of coppery hair off her forehead. "I can't bring him back to you. But I can keep his vision alive. And I will."


	29. Chapter 29

This chapter -- the aftermath of California. I still don't own them, and that's probably a good thing.

Note to those who visited earlier and found the wrong chapter (or no chapter)… I have no idea just how I managed to re-post ch. 25 instead of THIS chapter, because this is the chapter I know I prepped for posting, and I would've sworn under oath that this is the one I'd posted. We can blame Kitty and her computer skills, maybe?

X X X X X

Keeping Scott's vision alive began with looking to see what notes and plans he'd left. Logan paused inside the door to Scott's office, inhaled deeply. Scott's scent still lingered, and for a moment Logan half-expected to hear Scott's footsteps behind him, followed by a caustic, "Moving in already?"

"You hadn't gone and died, I wouldn't have to move in," Logan muttered more to shake his sudden melancholy than out of any belief that Scott would hear him in whatever afterlife there might be.

If Scott didn't have an obvious password, it would be just like him -- irritating as hell, Logan thought as he turned on Scott's computer, but at least the X motif didn't appear on startup.

Sixty-five variations on "Jean," "Scott," "Cyclops," and "Phoenix" later, Logan snarled in frustration. It wasn't obvious -- not to him, anyhow. He'd never admit that he'd actually tried such combinations as "ScottJean4eva" and "Cykenphoenix" and still gotten the message to please try again.

He shoved out of the chair and paced the room. Time to think like the hunter he was. Scott, or his password, was his quarry. What did he know of that quarry? What might lead him to a password Scott would think of as secure? And would someone as anal as Scott write that password down in case of an emergency? Hell, the man had put Braille tags inside the Blackbird on the off chance he'd have to try to repair it blind. He must've made a note of his password somewhere -- even if it was in Braille.

_Logan, will you come to my office?_

He jumped at the professor's mental contact. Jean snuck in, as though she were trying to wade into a lake without causing ripples. The professor's contact was more like a cannonball jump into a pool. And the professor had a positive gift for making an order into a question.

Well, Logan only followed orders when it suited him, and he still had thirty-five variations to try before he'd ask Jean if she knew what Scott's password was.

- - - - -

"You wanted to see me?" Logan knew Xavier had sensed his arrival, but Xavier didn't look up from his reading immediately.

"That was half an hour ago."

"I can come back later."

"Now's fine. Come in." Xavier set his papers aside as Logan crossed the room and took a spot near the wall of windows. He knew Scott had seen his refusal to sit in most situations as a challenge, but the truth was that the mansion just didn't have that many comfortable seats in it. He'd thought torture was illegal, but between antique furniture and modern furniture, the only seat he'd found that was remotely comfortable was Scott's office chair.

"Ororo tells me you're taking over as team commander."

"She doesn't want the job," Logan said. "She's more devoted to the school than the team."

Xavier smiled slightly. "It is the main purpose here, after all."

Logan shrugged. "They're both necessary."

"What are your plans for the team?"

"Plans?" So that's where this was going. "Continue training, being ready for what comes next."

"Erik has accomplished his goal," Xavier said. "He's got a place where mutants can live unmolested by humans. He won't be a threat any longer."

"He's not the only threat out there."

"Other mutants who might be a threat are more likely to live with him than here, so the team can refocus on search and rescue."

"Hate doesn't know political boundaries, Professor. It can't be reasoned with."

"It can be met with compassion," Xavier responded.

"Like that was so effective with Magneto." Logan shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. It was either that or claw something. "Maybe I see things in a more combative light than most people, but that's been my life. What's happened since I came here just makes that view more right. Doesn't mean you're wrong," he added, "but I'm not, either."

"The team has always prepared for combat as well as search and rescue. A refocusing of purpose doesn't negate that. It does mean that the team doesn't need to work as closely with the government as it has recently."

"Is that why you didn't show me more of my past?"

That caught Xavier off guard, and Logan saw a flash of regret in the other man's eyes, quickly shielded. "I couldn't show you what's not there."

"Couldn't? Or wouldn't?" He took one step closer to Xavier. "Were you afraid I'd corrupt the team with my outlook? Take them into battle when you'd rather keep them here in your ivory tower, hidden away from the world?"

"The mind is a delicate thing," Xavier said. "Push it too far, and it shuts down."

That's what had happened to him. He knew, with sudden certainty, that his mind had shut down to protect itself during the procedure that grafted the adamantium to his skeleton. "After it shuts down, don't you have an obligation to help open it up again?"

"Not if the risk of permanent damage outweighs the gain."

"And whose decision is that to make?" Logan shook his head. "You made it for me, and I have to wonder how many others you made that decision for. Besides Jean."

"No one is perfect, Logan --"

"Think I don't know that?" Logan took a breath. Anger wouldn't help him now. "I told Marie, at the train station, that you genuinely want to help people like her, and that's a rare thing. That's your biggest gift, Professor, not your telepathy."

"I sense a 'but' coming."

"But you can't let that desire blind you to everything else."

"Such as?"

"Such as people's right to decide how much help they want. Such as their right to choose their own paths, however much you wish they'd choose different than they do." He'd scored a direct hit with that one, he read it in Xavier's expression. He had no idea what hit he'd scored, but he had.

"Of course I respect those rights, and others --"

"I sense a 'but' coming, and I'm not a telepath."

Xavier frowned. "We as mutants, and telepaths more than others, have larger responsibilities, and those can on occasion override values we normally hold very dear."

"That sounds a lot like ends justifying means. Same way whoever did this --" he extended one set of claws and retracted them quickly --"thought. Just a mutie, do what you want to 'im. He don't count."

Xavier had the grace to look embarrassed. "That's not what I meant, Logan."

"Sure how it sounded." Logan moved toward the door. "I don't know what you expected when you called me here, but I already made a promise where the team's concerned, and I'm going to keep it."

Xavier just nodded, apparently sensing that this battle was over.

Logan paused at the door. "How old was Scott when he came to the school?"

"Seventeen. Why?"

"Just curious." He'd finally started thinking like Scott. He didn't want to make it a habit.

- - - - -

Jean couldn't quite keep her eyes from misting when she saw Logan at the front of the conference room where Scott should be. Better get used to it, she thought. That's the way it would be from now on.

Logan's glance at her told her that he felt as odd standing at the front of the room as she did seeing him there. His voice didn't reflect any discomfort when he called the meeting to order once she'd taken a seat between Ororo and Kitty. She was the last to arrive, thanks to an altercation on the playground involving Jimmy and one of the other students.

"The good news is, the Pacific Plate appears to have stabilized," he said, "and California Island is stationary a hundred and seventy-two miles west of the mainland."

Kitty picked up her pen and in moments her notepad was covered with calculations. Jean hid a smile as Kitty's thoughts leaked through her shields. _Distance -- speed, means a force in excess of --_

"The bad news," Logan's voice brought her attention back to him, "is that Magneto's refusing to speak with any non-mutant representatives of any nation. He's also refusing to speak with Hank McCoy."

"But -- he's a mutant," Bobby said.

"And a traitor to the cause," Logan countered. "Or so Magneto sees it. We all are," he added with a glance around the room, "because we fought to save Jimmy's life, and we didn't rally to his cause when summoned."

"Like I'd rally to any cause he supported," Marie muttered.

"So what do we do next?" Peter asked. "We aren't going to just let him get away with this, are we?"

"When I spoke with Hank, he said the president's in a quandary." Ororo smiled, and Jean knew that was the exact phrasing Hank had used. "On the one hand, he refuses to grant diplomatic recognition to Mutania. On the other, he's reluctant to authorize the use of military force within United States boundaries."

"The longer we wait, the harder it will be," Jean said.

"What do you mean?" Logan asked.

"I had a message from General Summers earlier," Jean said, and her voice was steadier than she'd expected. "He said that Magneto, alone, approached Alcatraz Island and demanded freedom for all the mutants we caught there. When the National Guard refused, he turned the building against them, using rebar as spears --" she broke off, shook her head.

Logan paced the front of the room. "Any of the Guard left alive?"

"A few. They were given passage to the mainland after they surrendered." Jean frowned, turned toward the door. Sensing Charles's approach was unusual. Sensing disquiet from him told her he was deeply upset.

"What's wrong, Professor?" Jean asked even before he'd fully rolled into the room.

"Someone used Scott's credit card," he said. "Friday. To buy a ticket on Alaska Airlines."

"How'd they get Scott's credit card?" Bobby asked.

"We don't know what happened before we got to Hank," Ororo said. "Anyone could've taken it from the jet. And if they took that, there's no telling what else they might have taken."

"How'd you find out?" Logan asked.

"I asked Carolyn to call and cancel his card," Charles explained. "But she didn't call until this morning. When she gave the date of death, they told her about the use on Friday."

"Three days' lead," Logan said. "These days, that's a cold trail."

"They have the point of sale," Peter said. "It's a start."

"I can't track a scent through that many people," Logan said.

"There are other ways of tracking, electronic ways," Kitty pointed out.

Jean wasn't paying attention to the discussion. Instead, one detail captured her thoughts.

Alaska Airlines. Scott had grown up in Alaska, Jean thought, though she doubted anyone else knew that, not even Charles. He'd always wanted to take her there. She'd love the scenery, he said, and he'd wanted to take her there --

She couldn't stop the hope bursting in her heart. He'd wanted to take her to Alaska to meet his grandmother.

"What's the closest Air Force base to Anchorage?" she asked, startling the others to silence.

"Elmendorf," Logan answered automatically, then seemed surprised that he'd known the answer at all.

Jean stood. "I need clearance to land there. And a car."

"Jeannie --"

"I'll call you from Alaska," she said over her shoulder and ran for the hangar.


	30. Chapter 30

Elmendorf Air Force Base would look just like any other base from the air, Jean thought, if it weren't for the stunning vistas of the Chugach Mountains to the east. Snow gleamed white in the morning sun, almost blinding her with its bright brilliance. She brought the Blackbird to earth per the control tower's instructions, and for a moment after shutting down the engines, she simply sat and drank in the beauty of the wild Alaskan landscape.

She couldn't indulge too long, though, not with cars approaching. Quickly, she secured the jet and lowered the aft ramp. She slung her bag over her shoulder and strode down the ramp to meet the approaching party.

Even from a distance, she recognized the insignia on the shoulder of the man who approached her. "Hello, Colonel," she said.

"Jim Broadbent." He held out his hand.

"Jean Grey." She braced for the impact of his thoughts and emotions when she shook hands, was pleasantly surprised when they were mostly calm and questioning.

"Have to say, ma'am, you're not what we expected."

"Oh?"

"When a two-star calls and asks me to clear a private party jet for landing, I expect a celebrity." Broadbent grinned as Jean refused to let his driver take her bag. "When said two-star is a local legend, I don't know what to expect."

"Certainly not a redhead doctor." Jean grinned back at him. Then, "Legend?"

"Yes, ma'am." Broadbent let her climb into the car before he did. "We get a few flyboys out of Alaska, but Chris Summers is from right here outside Anchorage. His daddy flew in Korea and 'Nam, and he flew in both Gulf Wars and now is working with the Joint Chiefs. We have a heap of respect for Corsair around here."

"Then maybe you can point me in the direction of Reindeer Falls," Jean said as their car pulled up to the main entrance to Elmendorf.

Broadbent offered her a set of keys. "That gray SUV is for your use while you're here. As for Reindeer Falls, take highway three north, then east on one, and follow the signs."

"Thanks, Colonel." Jean took the keys and allowed herself to brush his mind lightly. She'd learned over the years that surface pleasantries could conceal a lot of unpleasantness, but Broadbent accepted that she had Corsair's blessing, so he would cooperate with her if he could.

As she climbed out of the car -- before Broadbent's driver could open the door for her -- he said, "Good luck with your mission, ma'am."

She'd take all the luck she could get. Even now, after a cross-country flight, she still wasn't absolutely certain what she'd find here. There was only one way to gain that certainty, so she climbed into the SUV and started the engine.

- - - - -

Scott dragged the last load of firewood down from the woods behind his grandmother's house. In the days since he'd arrived, he'd already cut and stacked enough logs by her house to last through most of the rest of the year, and this morning he'd replenished the stack beside her pottery studio. The simple physical labor gave him a sense of accomplishment that he'd never matched with his work with the X-Men, as useful as that work had been.

He straightened from stacking the last log and stretched. Then he noticed the gray SUV parked beside his grandmother's pickup. He hadn't seen it before, but he'd only been here a couple of days, certainly not long enough to meet all of his grandmother's friends. This friend would have to settle for meeting him in sweaty condition, he thought wryly as he started toward the log and brick house that hadn't changed since he was a boy.

The wooden steps leading to the porch were worn in the center, and could probably stand to be replaced, he noted, but the porch itself was still strong, and he wiped the mud from his boots on the thick, scratchy mat. The front door opened into a narrow entryway, from which he could see into the living room. His grandmother sat facing him and he waved to catch her attention and let her know he was back, then started toward the stairs. She'd seemed to be deep in conversation with her guest, who sat facing away from him, so perhaps she'd let him shower before the inevitable introductions.

No such luck.

"Scott." At somewhere past eighty, his grandmother's voice was still strong, not thin and reedy like so many older people's. "Come say hello."

Her visitor stood, and turned, and Scott felt his chest tighten.

Jean.

Her smile was a little tentative and a lot relieved, and she'd never looked more beautiful to him than she did right now. She blushed a little -- how wonderful to see that, actually see her blush -- and he knew he was broadcasting, but he didn't care.

Without consciously willing it, Scott took a step forward, reached out to her. Then she was in his arms, her mouth under his, open and warm and welcoming.

He hadn't realized how much he'd missed her, needed her, until just this moment, and he tried to put all of that into the kiss, and never mind what his grandmother might think. He loved this woman, he always had, and always would, and he didn't care who knew it.

Eventually, he needed to breathe and reluctantly broke the kiss. He didn't pull back much, just enough to look into her eyes. She was here. Somehow, she'd known he needed her, and she'd come. His heart full, he wanted nothing more than to sweep her off her feet and carry her upstairs to his bedroom.

And then she slapped him.

- - - - -

"I'm grateful you didn't throw a punch," Scott said later, when he and Jean sat on the porch after dinner. "Or throw me into the nearest tree. Though I'd've deserved either one if you had."

"Why'd you leave?" she asked. She wanted to be closer, to snuggle against him, but he'd leaned against the porch railing, still holding himself somewhat distant. So she'd picked an Adirondack chair with homemade pillows and placed it where they could talk reasonably.

Scott rested one hip on the porch railing and looked out over the vista before them for a moment. At ten p.m., the sun still hung in the sky, casting the Chugach Mountains into stark relief. His grandmother had gone to bed a few minutes before, despite the lingering daylight. The sun wouldn't set for another hour and a half, and even then, it wouldn't ever be truly dark before the sun rose again shortly after four the next morning.

"I needed time," he said finally. "I ripped a continent apart, and I needed time to deal with that fact."

"You didn't rip it apart, Scott. Magneto did."

"Using my power. Cyclops's power. He may've twisted it, manipulated it, but it was my power that made it possible." He leaned back against a support post, rested his head against it. "It's why he gave you the information about the control serum. He manipulated me from the beginning." He shook his head. "And I thought Stryker manipulating me was bad."

"Why'd you come here?" Jean asked after a moment. She'd had her shields at a minimum since she'd arrived, but other than that one moment of love and lust when he'd first seen her, he hadn't broadcast much at all.

"Because here I didn't have to be Cyclops, leader of the X-Men. I didn't have to be the grandson of Colonel Phillip Summers, son of Major General Christopher Summers, who didn't follow the family tradition of the Air Force. Here, I could just be Scott Summers, whoever he was."

She looked at him curiously. "Aren't you always Scott Summers?"

"I haven't been just Scott Summers since my powers manifested." He might have sounded bitter, she thought, but he didn't. It was more an acknowledgment, maybe laced with the tiniest bit of regret. "I needed that perspective again."

"Has it helped?"

"When I left Baja, I just wandered. Found the nearest road, hitched a ride, and didn't really care where I went. I can't say I wanted to live or die. I just wanted to get away from what I'd done. You were right, you know."

"Right?" She blinked. "About what?"

"I am a coward, at least sometimes. I could stand and face Magneto down without breaking a sweat. But I couldn't face what came after I failed. I couldn't face you," he added. "I couldn't face the team. Anyone."

"Can you now?"

"I want to be just Scott a little while longer. Say, until morning?" Finally, she picked up something from him -- uncertainty. She hadn't felt that from him in a very long time.

She kept her gazed locked with his as she uncoiled from her chair and took the few steps that brought her face to face with him. She smiled slowly and brought her mouth to his.

He shifted position on the railing and wrapped his arms around her, and she stepped into the circle of his body. He tasted of his grandmother's apple pie and smelled of earth warming in the sun.

This kiss was more exploratory than the earlier, desperate one, when she'd been overjoyed to have her hunch confirmed and he'd been overwhelmed by the sheer fact of her presence. It wasn't quite enough.

"Let me in, Scott," she murmured against his mouth.

- - - - -

Let her in?

Instinctively, Scott tightened his shields, panic speeding his heart. He couldn't. Broadcasting was one thing, but to let her in, give her total access to his mind? That was something else entirely. "You don't want to see --"

"Let me in," she repeated, pulling back to look him in the eye. He missed the warmth of her body against his. "Stop hiding from me. Stop hiding from yourself."

He let his forehead rest against hers, the only excuse he could find not to look at her. She let him take it, at least for now.

What had she said before, the day she'd moved her things out of their room? That he had to tell her what he needed. She'd made an effort to be there for him without his asking, and now he had to make the effort to talk to her. In some ways, facing down Magneto was easier.

"I'm afraid," he said finally, quietly, half-hoping she wouldn't hear.

"What are you afraid of?"

Scott forced the words out. "That if you see, you won't want me anymore."

She was quiet for a long moment. Then, "Wouldn't you rather know?"

He raised his head to look into her eyes. He'd expected protests that of course she'd want him, and how could he think otherwise? Her simple question made him realize that he'd wanted those protests because he could challenge them, use the very expectedness of them to show that she didn't really mean it, and therefore keep his deepest self sheltered from her.

Trust Jean not to give him that shelter, he thought wryly. He'd have to earn it, but, paradoxically, the only way to earn it was to give it up.

She met his gaze, banked hope in her expression. Even if he didn't want to know, she did.

He dropped his shields.

She didn't barge in, Jean never would. But she smiled and he felt the first brush of her thoughts against his. He flinched, but kept his shields down, the only invitation he could offer, even as he braced for her inevitable rejection of him. He could handle it when it came, but he didn't want to. He didn't want to lose her, lose this connection he'd never shared with anyone else.

The first time she'd touched her mind to his had been to reassure him that no one had died the night his powers manifested.

"You can't lie in a mindlink," she'd said, and he'd had to believe her when she told him, mind to mind, that he hadn't killed anyone then. Years later, she'd told him that she'd only come to reassure him because he'd been broadcasting his fear so loudly she couldn't sleep at night.

Now, he could keep his fear contained and not broadcast it, but he felt it even more deeply. He had killed, and not just a few students at the high school gym. The news reports told of hundreds of thousands dead in the earthquake and the resulting tsunamis. His fault. The single largest mass murderer in history.

Jean thought those thoughts, felt those feelings with him. And she was still there, still a familiar, comforting presence in his mind.

_Not your fault,_ she told him, and it was clear that she believed it. _Magneto's fault._

_Mine, too._

_You were the weapon he wielded, that's all. Is a gun at fault if it's used in murder instead of self-defense?_

_Guns don't think. They don't feel._ And that was it, he realized. She might be right that it wasn't his fault, but that didn't stop his feelings nor his thoughts.

_They also can't make amends._

Despair washed through him. _How can I make amends for _that_?_

He let her see and feel it all, then, the anguish when he'd seen the crack appearing, the dread certainty of knowing what was coming next and that, however indirectly, he was its cause. He let her feel his misery at Magneto's taunts, the sheer emptiness inside when he'd realized he couldn't stop or change or fix what had happened. He let her feel the guilt that stabbed him anew with each television news update.

_You make amends by bringing the guilty party to justice._ She brought one hand up to caress the side of his face. _You share some responsibility for what happened,_ she told him, _but Magneto's guilty. He needs to be punished._

_Don't I need to be punished, too?_ He hadn't meant for her to hear that, but she did, and her thoughts embraced his even as she put her arms around him.

_You've been punishing yourself, and more than enough._ She gave him back his own nightmare images, the ones where people called out to him to save them and he couldn't or, sometimes, and worse, wouldn't.

He wanted to pull away, draw back, but her presence beside him kept him in place while the images played out. Somehow, it was easier to experience the images and the memories and feelings that came with them when she was with him.

_You're only human, Scott. Humans make mistakes, and errors of judgment, and sometimes bad things happen as a result. The only thing you can do then is apologize and make what amends you can. To do otherwise is a betrayal of what it means to be human._

For long moments, he just reveled in her presence and, more, her acceptance of that darkest part of him. Whatever came next, however the world chose to revile him for what he'd done, he could withstand it all, if she were with him.

He held her tighter. _I need you. I can't do this without you._

_I'm here._ She stroked her thumb along his cheekbone. _And I'll stand beside you all the way._

_All the way?_ He didn't so much think those words as feel them, and he brushed a strand of coppery hair back from her face. _For better or worse?_

She picked up his meaning, and her eyes misted. _For richer or poorer._

_In sickness and health._ He covered her mouth with his, a slower, deeper kiss than the one he'd given her earlier. _Will you, Jean?_

_I will._

Her simple answer sent a bolt of joy through him. And then he had to smile. _If I think about carrying you upstairs again, are you going to slap me again?_

She laughed aloud, and he heard the echo of it through their link. _Only if you ask me to._


	31. Chapter 31

Logan heard the jet approaching long before anyone else spotted its black silhouette in the distance. It might have a stealth mode on it, but that only applied to radar, not to his enhanced senses.

So he watched it land from a place just inside the hangar, and would've bet good money that Scott was back, just from how the Blackbird maneuvered. Jean was a competent pilot, but even with her telekinesis assisting, he doubted she'd be able to bring it in for that neat a landing.

Sure enough, when the ramp finally lowered, Scott was the first person to emerge from the Blackbird. Logan strode across the hangar to intercept him.

"Logan." Scott's tone was wary, as was his expression. Good.

"You ever take off without word again, you're off the team," Logan said.

Scott grinned the same grin he had when Logan had flipped him the bird with his center claw. "Fair enough."

He held out his hand, and Scott took it. One tug, and Logan had wrapped his free arm around the other man's shoulders in what he'd heard called a man-hug. Scott stiffened, surprised, and Logan couldn't say he'd entirely planned the move. But he'd seen Jean coming down the ramp and had to murmur just loud enough for Scott to hear, "You hurt her like that again, and I'll kill you."

He released Scott without waiting for a reply and looked up at Jean. She looked happy, for the first time in weeks. A discreet inhale told him that, yes, they were definitely together, and he nodded to himself. The world was righting itself again, however slowly.

"What do we know about the situation on California Island?" Scott asked.

Logan raised an eyebrow. "You think you're just going to waltz back and take over again?"

"You got a better idea?" Scott's tone matched his own.

"Those kids in there," Logan jerked his head in the general direction of the mansion, "need to know they can count on their commander. How do they know they can count on you, when you ran away?"

"Is it running away to need time alone to accept that you've made mistakes and figure out how to rectify them?"

"You let us think you were dead."

"That's one of the mistakes I made," Scott admitted. "And I'll do whatever it takes to earn back the team's trust and respect."

Logan studied him for a few moments, assessing. Impossible to judge much in a few words, but Jean had moved to stand with Scott, offering silent support. No matter how much she loved him, she wouldn't do that if she didn't believe he deserved it. And that was enough for him -- for now.

"Don't keep them waiting," was all he said.

- - - - -

Scott left the hangar and went upstairs. He wasn't looking forward to this reunion, to their disgust and anger when they found out what he'd done. But Jean had accepted it, accepted him, and he clung to that. If she could, maybe the rest of them could, too. If not -- he didn't want to think about that just yet.

They met him in the conservatory that doubled as a social studies classroom. Ororo held him almost as tightly as Jean had, though she didn't kiss him. Peter and Bobby shook his hand. Marie hung back until he opened his arms, and then she gave him a quick hug, as though she were afraid she'd somehow steal his powers even with that simple touch. Kitty just said, "Took you long enough."

He wanted to relish the reunion, not spoil it by telling them what he'd done and why he'd run away. But he had to, and he did. Using the same simple words he'd used to tell Jean, he told them what happened in Baja and how he'd ended up in Alaska afterward.

And then he asked if they still wanted him as their commander.

"Yes," Peter said simply. Bobby, Marie, and Kitty nodded their assent.

"I'd follow you into hell," Ororo said.

"Be sure you mean that," Scott countered. "Because that's exactly what I'm about to ask you to do."

"What do you mean?" Ororo asked.

"We can't let Magneto get away with this," Scott said. "We're the only ones who can bring him to justice."

"How?" Marie asked.

"I don't know yet," Scott admitted. "I need more information about what's going on over there before I can make a plan."

"You think he'll let any of us on that island?" Logan asked. "Or, if we sneak in, that he won't kill us if he finds us?"

"Good thing we can spy without being found, isn't it?" Scott looked to Jean.

"If he's wearing his helmet, I won't be able to track him, even with Cerebro," she said.

"You don't have to," Scott told her. "He can't possibly have shielded everyone."

"So?" Jean asked.

"So look at people around him, people close to him. Pyro. Any of the mutants he freed from Alcatraz."

Her eyes widened, and she nodded. "I can do that."

"That's job one," Scott said. "Once we have that intel, we can figure out how to proceed." Then he looked at Logan. "You may have to be bait."

Logan grinned, a feral expression. "This bait bites back."

- - - - -

"Scott? What are you doing out here?"

"Lifeguard duty." Scott grinned down at Jean. Unable to sleep, he'd come out to sit in the lifeguard's chair by the pool an hour ago.

Even in the dim light reflecting from the pool's underwater lights he could see her skepticism. "It's one a.m. Everyone's in bed."

"Makes the job easier. You're all done?"

"Twelve hours in Cerebro is long enough," she said wryly. "And I'm not going to have this conversation staring up at you."

"C'mon up. There's room." Scott shifted to one side of the lifeguard chair.

"Room, huh?" Jean floated beside him, and looked from the six-inch gap between his thigh and the edge of the chair to him.

"Plenty of room," Scott assured her. "You just have to sit in my lap."

"Nice save."

"I thought so." He settled her in place, noted that she'd left her shoes behind, and smiled when she wiggled her toes. "What did you find?"

"Telepaths. Lots of them. Doing what they could to shield those closest to him."

"So you didn't get anything." He couldn't quite hide his disappointment.

"Charles could've gotten more." He avoided answering the implied question as to why he hadn't asked Charles to do the scan, and she continued, "But that's why it took twelve hours. I was careful, I didn't want them to sense me."

His arms tightened around her waist. This close he could smell her perfume, that earthy, musky scent she always wore that complemented her own spicy scent. God, he could get hard just smelling her. "And?"

"And -- it's worse than we've thought. We've been telling ourselves that all he wants is one little place for mutants to be safe and free, and that's not it at all. He's going to turn it into a training camp, like what we do in the Danger Room, but a bigger scale. He wants it all, Scott."

"We shouldn't be surprised. Not after Alkali Lake." And probably not before, Scott added silently. He'd long thought Charles had made too many excuses for Magneto. Being this close to her made it hard to think, and he was holding onto his reason with difficulty.

"I'd thought that was a fluke." Her voice was low enough it was almost lost in the small slap-slap of waves against the edge of the pool. "That he knew what Stryker was attempting and took the chance when it was offered."

Scott heard the edge of grief in her voice, tucked her head against his shoulder. "We all gave him the benefit of the doubt, Jean. Some of us longer than others. It's hard to let go of your perceptions, even when they turn out to be wrong."

"Were they wrong? Or did he just change, and we didn't want to see it?"

He let one hand drift down to rest at her hip. "I don't know. The effect is the same. Unfortunately."

"I found out other things, too," Jean said after a moment. "Like not all of the people at Alcatraz stayed with him."

His thumb slid up under her blouse to stroke the skin just above the waistband of her pants. Reason was fast losing to libido. "That's good."

Her breath caught. "And he set up headquarters in the Bradbury Building."

"Lots of stairs," Scott murmured against her neck. He could feel the pulse in her vein beneath his lips.

"I can't report if you keep doing that."

"It can wait."

"But -- you need to plan." It was almost a moan, and Scott had to smile. He'd discovered her neck was one of her prime erogenous zones by accident, the third or fourth time they'd been together. Even now, it was the surest place to touch her to get her to lose control.

"And you can give me a telepathic report in ten seconds or less." He caught her earlobe between his teeth. "I've already worked out a rough plan. The rest is details."

"Details, yes." Her voice was harder, more normal, and she pulled back from him enough to look at him squarely. "Like why you asked me, not Charles."

"Not now." Not now, when an honest answer might send her running away again.

"When?"

"After. I promise."

"Scott --"

He stroked her cheek with his other thumb. He would tell her, but he wanted this loving to be just the two of them, not his secrets. "I promise, Jean. Trust me."

"It's hard."

"Yes, I am." He thrust up against her leg. It wasn't what she'd meant, but maybe it was, somehow. "We're going to fight tomorrow, maybe die, and all I want to do tonight is love you."

"Tomorrow?" She sounded surprised, but she was sliding her fingers into his hair, and she'd wiggled just the tiniest bit closer, so her thigh pressed against his cock.

"As soon as we can. The longer we wait, the longer he has to prepare." He bit at the tendon in her neck, not hard, just enough to make her gasp, and her hands tightened on his scalp. "If you have to talk, can you talk about something else?"

She tilted his head back, and pressed her mouth to his for a moment, then smiled. "In the chair is going to be awkward."

"I don't want in the chair." He kissed her again, felt her mind touching his, and didn't drop his barriers.

"Scott." Her tone was disappointed.

"I don't want you distracted." And she would be distracted if she saw what he planned there. He teased at the neckline of her blouse with one finger.

"Distracted?" She arched toward his hand and he cupped her breast, rubbing her nipple through her blouse.

He brought his mouth to her ear and whispered, "I want to fly."

"The Blackbird?"

He had to laugh. She wasn't thinking about his secrets any longer. "No. You."

She shivered in his arms. "Yes."

"And because I'm a lazy bum and don't want to chase clothes all over the grounds, I want to undress you right here."

She kissed him again, and he heard the rasp of her trousers unzipping, felt the brush of fabric against the skin of his arms as she unfastened her clothes telekinetically.

"Cheater," he murmured against her mouth.

"Efficient," she murmured back. "You chose a different form of efficiency. Swim trunks and T-shirt."

"Uniforms make life simpler." He slid his hands under her shirt, enjoying the softness of her skin, the play of muscles beneath his touch. Then, with a quick movement, he yanked her shirt down her arms and buried his mouth between her breasts. For some reason, that part of her body always tasted the best. Maybe it was the sweat that dried there, or maybe it was the body cream she used, or maybe he was deluding himself.

The pressure on his underarms finally made him lift his head, and then his arms over his head as she pulled his T-shirt off. An evening breeze whispered across his skin, a taste of what it would feel like when they were flying, and he shivered.

She floated up off his lap, and he reached out to slide her trousers down her legs. "We need to do more floating. Makes getting undressed much easier."

"Because I do most of the work." She was laughing when she said it, though, and he had to grin.

"Told you I'm a lazy bum." He stood on the footrest of the chair, hooked his thumbs in his swim trunks, and shoved them down.

"That would be why you only get four or five hours of sleep each night. Because you're lazy." She floated closer, and he pulled her against him, enjoying the silken caress of skin against skin.

"Sometimes. And sometimes I can be very industrious. Like now." He pushed her gently away, just far enough that he could glide his hands over her body, brush thumbs against nipples, fingertips against belly, and she clutched at his shoulders as though to steady herself.

He slipped his hands around her back, still stroking, teasing her with touches light enough to send shivers through her body, running a thumbnail up her spine, enjoying her pleased gasp. She returned the exploration, and he delighted in her touch as much now as he had the first time they'd come together -- more, really, because now there was the pleasure of familiarity instead of the awkwardness of new.

She was almost purring under his touch now, and he yanked her body hard against his. In his command voice, he said, "Fly."

Jean leaned backward, taking him with her, and for a moment he thought they were falling, but then they were suspended in mid-air, her legs twining around him.

The rush of adrenaline made him even harder. He kissed her, deeply, and pushed inside her. She moaned against his mouth and tightened around him, pulling him further.

It wasn't as hard, as fast, as he usually liked, but this slow deliberate loving carried its own intensity. Adjusting their positions took a moment, and he drifted his hands down her back to press her as tight against him as he could, thrusting deep as he did. She cried out at the change in angle, and that urged him faster.

He felt the familiar pressure, tightening, building, and captured her mouth with his as he climaxed, unconsciously growling low in his throat. She was only moments behind him, and he'd never get tired of the way she felt when she came, the half-lidded look she gave him, the way her nails dug into his arms.

And then they were falling, plunging together.

Cold water shocked him to full alertness, and he disentangled himself from her and kicked upward, gasping for breath when he broke the surface of the pool.

"Jesus," she said when she surfaced. "That's cold."

He laughed and caught her in a hug. "Sorry."

"What were you thinking?" The outrage in her voice was ruined by the chattering of her teeth.

"I wasn't exactly thinking." He let her go, urged her toward the ladder out of the pool.

"Mr. Tactical Genius wasn't thinking?" Instead of swimming, she floated up and out of the pool.

"You've always had that effect on me." She hadn't given him the courtesy of a lift out -- probably considered it payback for the plunge -- so he swam lazily toward the side of the pool and hoisted himself out.

"Yeah, well, this isn't what I meant when I said you could always make me shiver. And let me guess, you don't have towels anywhere handy, either?"

"Who needs towels?" He focused on her, turned his power on a low setting, ran his gaze up and down her body, watching the red glow envelop her.

"Mm." She turned away from him, let his powers dry her back as well. "Nice."

He sluiced most of the water off his body, trusting his own slightly higher body temperature to evaporate the rest quickly. She was dressing already, and he grabbed his shirt and trunks from where they'd fallen, pulled them on.

He had to tell her what he'd planned, he'd promised, but he needed the sense of safety the clothes provided. Even now, he hesitated to face her openly. But better to take any hit that was coming now.

"Jean."

She looked up at his serious tone, her blouse half-buttoned, her expression curious.

"I didn't ask Charles because he won't approve, and he'd try to stop me."

She buttoned the last two buttons of her blouse. "Stop you from what? Arresting Erik?"

Now or never. "I'm not going to arrest him. I'm going to kill him."

He held his breath, waiting for her rejection. She'd said he shouldn't punish himself for what happened in California, but that hadn't been entirely his fault. Now, he was planning murder. What would she say to that?

She took his hand. "I'm going to help you."


	32. Chapter 32

Sorry for the late posting; we were out of town for the holiday and just got back.

Still don't own them, just having fun, etc.

X X X X X

"How soon can those two teams who trained with us get here?"

"You're awfully demanding for a dead man."

Scott grimaced at the phone without breaking stride. He'd always thought best in motion, and right now he paced the grounds. "You didn't talk to Grandma, did you?"

"No," his father answered. "Should I?"

"She's supplied with firewood for the rest of the year." He knew that wouldn't be enough of an explanation, so he added, "I needed recovery time, and managed to do something useful with it."

His father grunted an acknowledgment, and Scott gave momentary thanks that he'd chosen not to pursue the matter further. The worst punishments he'd endured as a child involved explaining in detail why he'd chosen a particular path. Invariably, those explanations ended up sounding stupid to his ears and he'd felt worse than stupid under his father's disapproving expression.

"Why do you want those teams?"

"We'll need their help when we take Magneto down."

There was a silence, and Scott used the moment to frown at one of the younger students for spitting green goo on the sidewalk. "Clean it up, Taylor."

"Take him down?" His father asked.

Scott paused in his circuit of the grounds to make sure Taylor cleaned up the mess she'd made. "Bring him to justice. Overthrow him. Stop him. Take your pick."

"I see."

Scott frowned more deeply. "Unless the president wants to turn over half of California to a terrorist."

"The president's been talking with Secretary McCoy about diplomatic solutions."

"There are none," Scott declared flatly. "And Hank knows that. Magneto's tried twice to eliminate every non-mutant on the planet, either by making them mutants or just killing them. I'll bet you he won't even talk to Hank at this point, because Hank's working with non-mutants."

"I'll call you back."

Scott closed his phone. His father never had been one for long goodbyes, but that was more abrupt than usual. Something was going on in Washington, something somebody thought he didn't need to know about yet.

He had a sinking feeling that he knew already.

- - - - -

His worst suspicions were confirmed on that night's news. President McKenna, at the urging of Congress, had waived the _posse comitatus_ restrictions and authorized a battalion of Marines supported by several detachments from the other branches to attempt to reclaim California Island.

The news media refused to show video of the resulting carnage.

"We've got to do something," Peter said as Logan shut off the television.

"Can't without the okay from above," Logan said. "Right?"

Scott leaned against the pool table. Until the news came on, he and Jean and been playing -- it was a fair game, his geometric sense against her telekinesis. "I'd rather not," he said, "but we may have to."

"I don't get it," Bobby said. "Why should we wait? We know what we need to do."

"But we can't do it alone," Scott told him. That drew stares from everyone in the room. He shook his head. "You think Magneto won't be expecting us?"

"We took down his goons once," Logan said. "You with us this time, it'll be even easier."

"It's not just other mutants," Jean said. "Magneto built that machine he used at Liberty Island to amplify and modify his powers, and he helped build Cerebro. Who knows what he might have built and have waiting for us?"

"We can destroy them, right? Kitty's phasing disrupts electronics, and Pete's strength will take care of the rest. And Storm's lightning." Bobby shrugged.

"If we get the chance," Scott said. "I'm not assuming we will. I'm assuming the worst, that whatever he's got will take us out."

"Glad to see you're an optimist," Bobby quipped.

"Things designed to stop us aren't necessarily designed to stop non-mutants," Scott explained. "That's why I asked for --"

The buzz of his cell phone interrupted him, and he snapped it open without checking the readout. "Summers."

"They'll be there tomorrow." His father's voice sounded grim.

"Both teams?"

"Both teams. Good luck."

"Thanks." He closed the phone and shoved it into its clip. "The Spec Ops teams will be here tomorrow."

"You think they'll make a difference?" Logan asked. "Conventional military didn't do so well earlier."

"Spec Ops aren't conventional, and neither are we. Between us, Magneto doesn't stand a chance."

- - - - -

"Dr. Grey?"

"Come on in, Marie," Jean said.

Still the girl lingered in the doorway to her office. "Am I interrupting?"

"Not really," Jean told her. "I'm just reviewing journals. I let myself fall behind the last couple of weeks." Marie stepped inside, and Jean felt her nervousness. She set the journal aside. "What's wrong?"

Marie sat stiffly opposite her. "I want the control serum. I know I'm not eighteen yet, but you've been trusting me with my power since I got here, and that's all the control serum affects, right?"

"Well, yes. Scott had to heal from an earlier injury that affected his power before the serum worked, though."

Marie's expression stayed resolute. "I'm willing to take that risk."

"Are you sure? If you have a problem related to your power we don't know about, you could have the same kind of reaction Scott did. Or worse."

"Y'all trust me to fight. You'd think you could trust me with this decision."

Jean heard the hurt in Marie's voice, felt it reverberating in her mind, and couldn't deny the hypocrisy. She was still forming a reply when Marie added, "Besides, if I do have a reaction, it won't be a big loss to the team. Not like when Scott had his."

"That's not true," Jean said, almost automatically. She read Marie's skepticism in her eyes, and searched for words. "You've proven yourself -- we couldn't have caught Madrox without you. Not as easily, anyway. And at Alcatraz, you were right there in the middle of it with the rest of us."

"I'm a tag-along." Marie shrugged. "It's okay, not everybody gets big mutations. Not everybody is cut out to be a front-line fighter."

"When we were talking about bringing more people into the team, you and Peter were the first two Logan suggested. Logan said he'd take you at his back any day."

"He did?" Marie's eyes widened and her voice went up half an octave. "Really?"

"Really," Jean assured her. "It's not about the power. It's about the person with the power. Look at what you've done with yours, as opposed to what, say, Magneto did with his."

Marie grimaced. "I'd rather not think about him, thanks."

Jean had to smile at that. Then she sobered. "I have to ask again -- are you sure you want the control serum?"

"I'm certain. I wasn't before, but now --" she broke off, blushed just a bit.

"Now?" Jean prompted.

"Well -- now we're going to a big fight, and we have warning, and we have time, and --" she broke off again. Pink suffused her cheeks, and Jean didn't need her telepathy to know what the younger woman was thinking.

"Bobby."

Marie nodded, unable to look at her, and Jean bit back a grin. Apparently she and Scott weren't the only ones who wanted to celebrate life before facing death. "Then we should talk birth control, too."

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I guess."

"What's really bothering you, Marie?" She'd learned over the years that a direct question sometimes worked better than spending half an hour dancing around a topic.

"Can't you just read my mind and find out?" Marie's tone was suddenly sharp, almost angry.

"Only if you want me to." Jean made it a slight question, waited for Marie's response.

"Just give me the shot, and I'll let you get back to work, okay?" Her hands twisted in her lap.

"As the team physician, I need to know what's bothering you. Nothing you say will leave this room in specifics, but if there's an issue that might affect the team's performance, I need to know." Direct questioning hadn't worked. Maybe confrontation would. She hadn't lowered her shields, but Marie's emotions hummed loudly enough that they were starting to bleed over.

"Everything's about the team now, isn't it? I thought it was about us as people, learning to use and control our powers."

"Of course it is," Jean said. "But you're on the team, so it's not just about people anymore."

"I didn't ask to be on the team," Marie snapped. "I got caught up in it. There's a difference."

"Do you want to be on the team?" Jean asked quietly.

"I don't know." Now she sounded desperate. "I never thought about any of this before I came here, y'know? All I wanted was an adventure before college, and then I figured I'd get a job, get married, have a family. This --" she held up a gloved hand --"changed all that."

"And now there's a control serum and a suppression serum, and either one of those could give you back that life you dreamed of."

"Yeah." Marie slumped in her chair. "I don't know what to do."

Jean studied her for a long moment, lowered her shields to get a better sense of her. She needn't have bothered, she thought. At the moment, Marie was a mass of confusion and indecision.

"None of us have been in your position," Jean said finally. "Not even Scott. He chose his life path a long time ago."

"And that's great," Marie said quickly. "The school, the team -- it's all great. Needed. I just don't know if it's what I need."

"Okay." Jean stood. "Come on, let's get you that shot."

Marie blinked up at her. "You're going to give it to me?"

"Yes." Jean went into the clinic proper and opened the secured fridge where she stored her sensitive materials. "As you say, we've trusted you in battle. We should trust you to make these decisions, too."

Marie sat on the exam table and pulled one of her gloves off. Jean readied a syringe and pulled on latex gloves herself. It wouldn't do for her to collapse from the effects of Marie's power before she fully administered the shot.

"Thank you," Marie said.

"There's one condition."

"What?"

"You tell Scott you don't want to go on this mission." Jean wrapped the tourniquet around Marie's upper arm and swabbed the inside of her elbow with an alcohol pad.

Marie looked panicked. "Can't you just fake a medical excuse and get me off that way?"

Jean readied the needle, inserted it. "Lying to Scott isn't the way to tell him you want off the team."

Marie sighed and applied pressure without being instructed when Jean removed the needle.

"It's not a crime to say, I don't want to do this, you know. Nobody's going to respect you less or like you less if you make that choice. But they will respect you less if you lie."

"I don't want to let anyone down," Marie murmured. She offered her arm and Jean wrapped a pressure bandage around it.

"Don't let yourself down," Jean said. "We want you to be happy. Whatever that means, okay?"

"Okay."

"Ready to see if it worked?" Jean asked.

"Already?" Marie blinked at her.

"Already." She decided not to explain how she'd modeled and tracked the serum's progress through the body, nor how she'd rechecked her data after Scott's reaction. Instead, she simply stripped off her gloves and held out her hand.

Hesitantly, Marie placed her hand in Jean's.

And this, Jean thought, was fear. She knew what the data said, but that didn't stop her from expecting to feel her life, her power, her memories drained away.

But Marie was smiling, and then crying, and then throwing her arms around Jean, and Jean felt tears of joy stinging her own eyes as she gave Marie the first hug she'd had without fear since her power manifested.

"Thank you," Marie murmured over and over. "Thank you."

Jean pulled her closer one last time. "You're very, very welcome. Now, about that birth control…."


	33. Chapter 33

For the first time, Scott missed his glasses as he watched the Huey descend onto the basketball court. If he'd been wearing them just now, they would've protected his eyes from the fierce winds whipped up by the helicopter's rotors. As it was, he squinted to protect his eyes while the SEAL and Delta Force teams disembarked with professional speed. Two of them lingered just long enough to extract a case that clearly took both of them to lift.

"Yo, Cyclops."

"Hey, guys." Scott grinned at Redneck and Sushi, shook their hands, and nodded to the rest of the two teams. Between twelve Special Operators and the Huey's crew, it had been a cramped trip for them, but you'd never know it from the way they acted. The Huey lifted off and Scott waited until the whup-whup of the blades faded a bit before speaking again. "We're lifting off immediately, will do the briefing en route."

"What's our staging point?" Sushi asked and fell into step with Scott and Redneck as they headed toward the entrance to the hangar.

"Naval Air Station China Lake," Scott answered. "It and Twentynine Palms are the closest undamaged bases, but Twentynine Palms is overwhelmed with refugees."

"Just as well," Redneck scowled. "I was there for training, once. They don't call it the Stumps for nothing. But there is a UAV battalion stationed there."

Scott raised an eyebrow as they stepped inside. "Unmanned aircraft recon would be useful. I'll see what I can arrange."

"You have a place in that jet to strap this down?" Redneck asked as the two men set the crate by the Blackbird's ramp.

"Not securely." Ororo came down the ramp and smiled at Redneck. He nodded back with more warmth than Scott had seen before. "We decided we needed space for people more than things."

"Fair enough," Sushi said. "Open her up, we'll carry them."

"Carry what?" Scott asked, and then felt his expression harden when he saw what lay inside. "Cure weapons?"

"What?" Ororo pushed past him to look into the crate for herself, then turned accusing eyes on Redneck. "We're helping you."

"These people are criminals," Scott said. "They have the right to due process."

"They are not criminals," Redneck declared. "They're terrorists who attacked the United States. This is war, and they're enemy combatants."

Naturally, it was in that moment of tension that most of the rest of the team arrived. Logan sensed the standoff immediately and glanced between him, Redneck and Sushi.

"Problem?" Logan asked.

"No," Sushi answered. "Cyclops, a word?"

Scott allowed Sushi to lead him to the nose end of the Blackbird. Logan might still hear, but the rest of the team wouldn't.

"Look," Sushi said, low and urgent, "I understand how you feel --"

"No, you don't," Scott snapped. "Those weapons don't kill, they cripple. Permanently."

"They remove a threat -- unless you're going to argue that Magneto isn't a threat." Sushi shook his head. "We don't have time to debate this now. Those weapons are only to be used against Magneto and his people."

Scott frowned. The implied blackmail -- that the cure weapons could be turned against the X-Men if necessary -- didn't come from these men. It came from higher up, and probably from the president himself. Then again, he'd as much as blackmailed the president just before he and Hank had left for California. He should've expected this Mexican standoff -- but, a part of his mind suggested, it might just be the tension they needed to find a lasting solution. Until then, he couldn't let someone else completely dictate the use of the cure weapons.

"Only against those actively in combat. And give them warning first."

"If we can," Sushi said. "Snipers don't give warning."

Scott nodded, the familiar tightness in his gut before a fight worse than usual now. "Fair enough."

"Relax, Cyke," Sushi said as they started toward the rest of the teams. "We know who the good guys are."

The problem was, who the good guys were could change at any minute, and they both knew it. After this mission was over, Scott would have to design some Danger Room practices against Special Forces teams who understood mutation and had cure weapons as well, just as a precaution.

That was for after, though. Right now, he needed one more piece before he could put his plan into place, and this was as good a time as any to get it.

"You wouldn't have a spare knife, would you?" Scott asked casually. "I've never used one of those non-metallic knives you guys carry."

"Sure." Redneck pulled one from his pack and tossed it to Scott, who caught it easily.

"Thanks." He hefted the knife in his hand, testing its weight. He glanced at Jean, and she nodded, indicating she'd picked up his thought. Good. He'd need her help to make sure the plan worked.

"We're lettin' 'em take those?" Logan asked, jerking his head toward the cure weapons.

"For now," Scott answered. Logan scowled but nodded, and Scott glanced around, a last assessment of the team. "Where's Rogue?"

Bobby shrugged. "I haven't seen her since breakfast."

"Here I am."

Scott turned toward the entrance to the hangar and raised one eyebrow. "You're not in uniform."

"I'm not going."

"What?" It was a toss-up, he thought, who looked more surprised, Bobby or Logan. The only one who didn't seem at all surprised was Jean.

"I never wanted to be a hero," Marie said quietly, but with determination. "I got dragged into this whole X-Men thing, and when I didn't think I'd ever fit in, it gave me a place and a purpose."

"But the control serum changed that, didn't it?" Scott asked, remembering his conversation with her in the hallway outside the game room when the cure was announced.

"Yeah," she said. "I want my life back."

"You could've told me," Bobby said.

"I wasn't completely sure until just now," Marie told him. "I sat in the locker room and -- couldn't. I'm sorry," she added to Scott.

"I told you to do what you wanted," Scott reminded her. "And if this is it, then it is."

Marie went over to Bobby and kissed him, said something too low for him to catch, but Logan heard, of course, and just raised an eyebrow. "Good luck," she said aloud when she stepped back.

"We should be back for a late supper," Logan quipped, and turned to go up the ramp into the Blackbird. The SEALs and Delta Force teams followed. One by one, the rest of the X-Men said goodbye and went aboard the Blackbird until only Scott and Marie were left.

She straightened her shoulders when she looked at him, almost as though she expected a reprimand.

"You know you're welcome here," Scott said. "That won't ever change."

Marie smiled. "Thanks."

"See you when we get back." He gave her a casual salute, then turned and went up the ramp himself.

- - - - -

Magneto didn't like to think of himself as a murderer. He knew he'd have to kill, and order others to kill, to achieve his goals. That wasn't murder. That was a necessary loss.

Nonetheless, it had given him great pleasure to kill the owners of the Bradbury Building in Los Angeles. They'd converted the building into a nightclub -- sacrilege, he thought, to treat such a classic building that way. But at least all of the ironwork had been restored. So much raw material.

"Why do you want this place?" Pyro asked, looking around the building with a disdainful air. Others had already begun to demolish and dismantle the nightclub accoutrements. "There's lots of places that would be better headquarters than this."

"The ironwork," Magneto said.

"Too garden party."

So much for the education Xavier gave, Magneto thought. The ironwork was more scrollwork than leaves and vines. Or maybe Pyro was just that stupid.

He noted one curlicue that had been bent, likely by some drunken nightclub patron. Gently, he surrounded it with his power, coaxed the metal back into its proper shape. If things had been different, he mused, he might have been a sculptor.

Things weren't different, however, and he finished his repair quickly.

"It won't be long before we have guests," he said. "We'd best prepare a welcome for them."

- - - - -

"We'll have two groups," Scott said, kneeling on the floor of the C-130 between the two rows of X-Men and Special Forces. His voice carried clearly through the comlinks they all wore, even over the noise of the four turboprop engines. Logan had dialed up the volume on his comlink to help baffle the engine noise with the slight white noise that always emanated from electronics. It hadn't helped much, and when Scott spoke, Logan winced and adjusted the volume much lower.

They'd arrived at China Lake early that afternoon and spent the day going over the aerial recon photos from Twentynine Palms and resting before taking off around nine p.m. Scott had obviously spent part of his resting coming up with plans. At least, Logan thought, Scott's plans were flexible, not timed to tenths of a second. Logan had the feeling that detailed plans rarely survived contact with reality.

"Wolverine, Iceman, Colossus, and the SEALs will head inland from about here." Scott indicated a spot on the coastline map spread in front of him. "Your job is to try to lure Magneto out of his base. Failing that, torch it."

"He'll smell me coming," Logan said, "but no bets on whether he comes himself or sends someone else."

"Understood," Scott said. "Sushi will handle the deployment -- we're not as good at urban combat situations as you are," he added to the SEAL commander.

"Iceman, we'll want you up top with the snipers," Sushi ordered. "A little well-placed havoc never hurt anyone." He grinned. "So to speak."

Logan chuckled with the others, frowned when Scott moved his finger further on the map. "The rest of us will continue on to Palmdale, disembark, and head into Los Angeles proper. UAV recon from the Stumps caught Pyro and Magneto both in downtown Los Angeles, so we'll proceed to the Bradbury Building. We're counting on your distraction to pull most of the significant threats away from him."

"Bait bites back," Logan said. "We can take 'em."

Scott grinned at that, but then said, "Any questions?"

Sushi looked at the X-Men. "You ever gone skydiving?"

"Not that I remember," Logan answered as Peter and Bobby shook their heads. "But we'll all be fine landing in the water. I'll heal, Colossus goes in armored, and Iceman makes an ice shield."

Sushi nodded, but his expression said he didn't like that answer.

"How far do we have to swim?" Bobby asked.

"We're not swimming," Sushi answered. "That's what we have zodiacs for. Rigid-hulled inflatable boat," he added when Bobby looked puzzled. "Bumpy ride, but fast."

"Don't those have loud motors?" Peter asked.

"The new model doesn't," Sushi said. "And it's low-observable on radar as well."

Peter nodded acknowledgment, and Scott looked around once more. "Other questions?"

"Just one," Logan said.

"What?" Scott turned his full serious commander expression on him.

"How come you get all the girls?"


	34. Chapter 34

They'd had to skirt fallen buildings, avoid roads either torn during the earthquake or blocked by those fallen buildings, and dodge or disable the random mutants and humans patrolling the city, so the trek into downtown Los Angeles had taken longer than it should have.

As they approached the Bradbury Building along Third Street from Spring Street, Logan tapped the comlink in his ear twice to signal Scott that they were almost in position. He heard Scott's answering scratch -- only one, which meant Scott's team was still more than a mile away. Good. That gave his team time to accomplish their mission.

At Sushi's nod, the SEAL sniper, whose handle was Cotton, broke off and gestured Bobby to follow him. They'd be staking out a position on the roof of the building across Third from the Bradbury Building. The sign dangling from its awning said that it had been a Chinese restaurant, but now it sat as an empty hulk.

Logan held up a hand and signaled that he'd recon before the team reached the building. If Magneto were inside, there was no doubt that he'd already sensed Logan's approach -- as much adamantium as was in Logan's body would set every metallic sense Magneto had jangling -- but, after all, their team's purpose was to get Magneto out of the Bradbury Building.

He moved away from the rest of the team on silent feet -- until the soles of his boots squeaked on wet concrete. He grimaced and stepped around the puddle on the sidewalk, resolving to suggest an upgrade to the uniforms when this was over. He moved up to the corner of the alley and snuck a glance into it. The alley was clear except for one young woman standing guard near the rear entrance.

_Some guard, focused on the cell phone in her hand more than her job._

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd hoped for a challenge to his skills, but sneaking up on her was insultingly easy, even with the almost complete lack of cover.

She was unconscious before she fully registered his presence.

"Clear," he muttered into the comlink, and like wraiths, the SEALs and his teammates crept into the alley with him. "Colossus and I will stand watch."

He found a place in the shadows at a corner and melted into them. A part of him wanted to be beside the SEAL demolition expert.

_I know this. I can do it, too._

Memories chose damn inconvenient times to surface. These, at least, were sensations, not images, and he could let those sensations flood over him, through him, without losing himself the way he did to nightmare memories.

He'd grown certain that he'd been involved with the military, and now he believed that he'd been involved with several militaries over far longer than anyone had a right to be alive. One of those militaries had been a special forces detachment, he just knew that in his bones.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Sushi and his men quickly and carefully planting their charges, and he found himself anticipating where they'd place each device before they actually did it.

Then the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention.

"Incoming," he barked into the comlink.

- - - - -

"He's still in the Bradbury Building," Jean murmured. "Or that's what the people around him think."

"Gotta tell you," the voice of Rabble, the Delta Force medic, came through her comlink, "that's still spooky."

"Trust you to think that's spooky but have no problems with her throwing things around a room," Redneck quipped.

"Like I don't deal with flying objects otherwise?" Rabble snorted. Even with the banter, Jean sensed these men were focused on their job. It wasn't unlike an operating room, she thought. When the staff was chatting and joking things were going well.

They'd chosen to approach the Bradbury along Broadway, which would lead them directly to the main entrance. It was also the most visible, direct approach. They were a target, but perhaps less of one than Logan's team.

Beside her, Ororo's thoughts hummed with nervousness. Scott, like the Delta team, wasn't thinking so much as being, but determination toned his mind, and she reached out to gently brush his thoughts with hers. She felt his answering touch as if he'd slid a glance sideways at her with a small, private smile. Determination tinged even that, and she withdrew to open her psychic sense fully.

Unlike what she'd felt at Alcatraz when she'd visited with Hank, and unlike what she normally felt in large cities, the feel of most thoughts around her was panicked and fearful. She'd missed the background noise of others' thoughts when she'd been in Jimmy's range, but now she found she also missed the drone of people thinking normal thoughts. Hearing people worrying about picking up the dry cleaning or whether their kids were experimenting with drugs or sex or whether they'd get the promotions they wanted would be a relief just now.

And there -- there was something other than nervousness, fear, and panic. Clear, focused intent. In a heartbeat she realized what that had to be.

"Snipers," she said.

"Storm, cover." Scott gave the order instinctively, and beside her, Jean felt Storm's own thoughts focusing on manifesting her power.

"Winds," Redneck added. "Force 'em to compensate."

"Phoenix, our men need locations -- " Scott broke off with a grunt, and Jean felt his pain lancing through him almost as if it were her own.

"Are you --" she began, cut off when, beside her, Storm screamed.

Then she felt it, too, lightning lancing along her nerve endings and settling into her very DNA to catch fire.

She'd felt pain this bad only once before, at Alkali Lake, when Charles had been forced to try to kill all the mutants. Erik hadn't felt it, then, not with his helmet on. He had no idea what this pain felt like.

By comparison, her knees cracking against the sidewalk felt like Scott's caress.

Dimly, she heard Redneck giving orders to his men, then she felt his presence closer to her, and his mind abraded her awareness. Vaguely, she sensed his hand on her cheek.

"Phoenix." His voice was urgent. "Tell me where the snipers are."

"Four o'clock and ten o'clock," she said. She didn't recognize her own words, rough and hoarse as they were, as though her voice itself was scrubbed with sandpaper. But apparently he hadn't heard or understood her at all.

"Now," Redneck snapped. "Focus, dammit, or we're all dead."

If he hadn't heard her voice, maybe he'd hear her thoughts, hard as it was to concentrate. His hand on her cheek was the connection she needed to make the contact, even though it gave new meaning to the term 'splitting headache'.

_There._ That and the images she'd picked up was all she had the strength to send before pain shattered her focus again. With any luck, it would be enough.

It was her last thought before her world dissolved in agony.

- - - - -

Logan signaled to Peter, and the young man shifted his position slightly, just as a young man holding some kind of device appeared in the alley. Peter grabbed him to swing him into the wall, and he threw the device into the midst of the gathered SEALs and X-Men. A high-pitched whine pierced Logan's keen ears, and he winced as the whatever-it-was bathed the alley in a sickly green glow. Peter shifted back to human form.

"Colossus, armor up," Logan ordered. He'd have to have words with the young man later about powering down in the face of a threat.

"I'm trying." Peter's voice sounded strained. "I can't."

Logan cursed even as the kid who'd thrown the device laughed. "Not so tough in a power-null beam, are ya?"

"Tough enough," Peter answered and swung the kid headfirst into the wall. Logan grinned. All those Danger Room sessions had done their job. Peter hadn't panicked, had reacted like a true soldier, one that Logan was proud to serve with.

"Snipers." Cotton's voice came through the comlink.

"Take 'em down," Sushi ordered, and Logan dove out of the path of an incoming power blast from above.

It was a good strategy, Logan had to admit. Neutralize the powers of the invaders, use powers to bring them down. But that begged the question -- would their powers come back when the machine was turned off?

No time to think about that now as three more people appeared in the alley, presumably to keep them from running. Not that either X-Men or SEALs were known for running from danger.

First thing to do was get rid of that beam and see if their powers returned.

He popped the claws from one hand, relished the squeak from one of the other kids in the alleyway. "Power null! It's supposed to turn off your power!"

"These ain't the power, kid." He dodged another heat blast and slammed his claws into the device. Sparks flew, but the green light faded.

He retracted the claws, grimaced at the blood on his knuckles, and glared at the kid. Christ, he was young. How many other kids had Magneto recruited? "You talk a tough game, kid. How do you play?"

"Down!" A SEAL body slammed into him, knocking him flat. A heartbeat later, the ground where he'd stood sizzled as acid ate into the concrete.

"Why aren't those snipers down?" Logan barked. From the corner of his eye, he saw Peter slam a fist into the side of the kid's head, and the kid crumpled. Even unarmored, Peter was strong.

In answer to his question, he barely heard the report of the silenced rifle. He did hear the thud of a body hitting the roof above him. "That's one," Cotton's voice reported.

"Here's two," Bobby added, and as Logan got to his feet, he watched a woman with her hands frozen in a chunk of ice almost two feet on a side crash into the sidewalk. "Try keeping your balance with that much weight in front of yo--eeeow."

Logan glanced up in time to see Bobby falling behind the railing on his rooftop before another blast hit the spot where he'd been standing.

"Mine," Cotton murmured. "Stay open, guys, don't make 'em take cover."

"Easy for you to say," Sushi muttered.

Logan grunted agreement and slammed his bloodied knuckles into another one of the mutants standing at the corners of the building, out of range of the snipers above. "Thought you SEALs lived for this shit."

"Rather not die in it," Sushi quipped and threw himself against the wall where they'd been placing explosives. "Yo, Cotton. Got a clean shot above me. Taking it."

He suited action to words and Logan saw one of the three heads above them disappear.

"Wall's almost done," Bobby said, and Logan looked at the other roof, where a wall of ice had sprouted. "A little thicker..."

"Boomer, how close are you?" Logan asked the SEAL demolition expert.

"Gimme cover, done in a minute. Less."

"On it," Cotton replied.

"You got incoming from Third," Bobby reported. "Slowing them down."

And then Logan heard the thud of bodies and grunts and cries of surprise.

"Ready," Boomer announced.

"Cyclops, how close are you?" Logan demanded. He frowned when no response came. "Cyke?"

"The X-Men are down." That was Redneck, not Scott, and then Logan heard the report of gunfire through the comlink. "We're taking out the installation that got them."

"Down? Permanently?"

"Get back to you on that."

Well, shit. Logan gritted his teeth and dove toward the nearest of Magneto's recruits. He'd take what comfort he could in avenging them.

- - - - -

Scott came back to consciousness slowly.

"C'mon, Cyke, quit lazing around." Not Logan's voice. Then who? He blinked past the fuzziness in his brain and looked up.

"Musta drove people nuts when you couldn't take your visor off," the voice continued, and Scott flinched when a light shone in first one eye then the next. "How the hell any doctor could check your eyes is a mystery."

Doctor? Must be, given the light that flashed in his eyes. But it was a male voice, so definitely not Jean... He blinked, his vision clearing once the light went away, and he looked into a concerned male face, and recognition dawned. Rabble. The Delta Force medic. He vaguely remembered pain like he'd never felt before, and then passing out.

"What happened?" He hadn't been out too long, he thought, since his mouth wasn't dry and his voice didn't scratch.

"No time to explain," Redneck answered. "Wolverine's ready to blow the building."

Scott struggled to his feet. He hurt, a bone-deep ache that felt as though it had settled into every cell in his body. Rabble held out a hand, and Scott took his visor, slapping it back on his face with forced briskness.

A glance around told him that the other members of Delta Force were searching bodies that had fallen awkwardly. From two of the bodies, they retrieved what looked like control units of some kind. Had those units been what knocked the X-Men out?

Redneck was right, there wasn't time for a full explanation. That would have to wait until the battle was over. What troops did he have for the battle? He surveyed the team. All the Delta Force were fully functional, so whatever had hit them had affected only mutants.

Not far away, Storm also struggled to her feet, with Redneck's assistance. Jean still sat on the sidewalk, rubbing her temples. He stole a moment to cross to Jean and rest a hand on her shoulder.

"You okay?" he asked quietly. She had to be, or the plan just got that much harder.

"I will be." She looked up at him. "I won't let you down."

He squeezed her shoulder in silent encouragement. "Let's go, then."

She nodded and got to her feet.

"Resuming approach," Redneck said into the comlink. "Everyone's up."

"ETA?" Logan's voice came back.

"Three minutes," Scott replied.

"Cover your ears," Logan said, and Scott heard the faintest tinge of relief in the other man's voice. "Building goes boom in two and a half."

"Mantis," Redneck ordered the sniper, "into position." The sniper jogged away.

"Storm, airborne." Scott felt the winds coalescing around Storm and she rose into the air. "Clear the alley once they blow the building so they can go in."

"Slight problem," Logan said. "Colossus and I are powerless. Caught in a cure beam."

Scott cursed silently in every language he knew, including Tlinkit. "Understood. Do your best."

"Cyclops." It was Jean's voice, an implied question.

"Later," he told her. "The mission comes first."

She nodded, her expression tight, and they resumed their trek toward the Bradbury Building.


	35. Chapter 35

The explosion that ripped a hole through the rear of his building made Magneto scowl. He'd thought the X-Men appreciated the finer arts and sciences. Certainly Charles Xavier did, and he was their founder and namesake.

But Wolverine was out there, and he had no finesse at all. Likely this was his doing. He'd wondered whether the seeds of doubt he planted at Alkali Lake had borne fruit. Apparently they had if Wolverine had abandoned the X-Men and rejoined the military.

Not, of course, that Wolverine's presence now would alter the outcome. Not given the cure beam weapon that had been Mystique's last gift to him before she'd been arrested.

"Deal with it," Magneto ordered Pyro and Arclight. The two of them should be plenty to handle one powerless X-Man and whatever regular military had joined him on this suicidal mission. They never learned.

Then he heard a curse and a shout. "It's the X-Men -- and the army! They've got --"

Whatever else Pyro had been going to say was cut off with a yelp. But he'd heard enough.

With a thought, he summoned a swarm of pieces from the iron scrollwork lining the stairs. He hated damaging such master metalwork, but he had no choice. Once the battle was over, he'd repair it. This time they'd learn. He'd make sure of it.

- - - - -

Logan couldn't help grinning when he saw Pyro emerge from the hole in the wall. He'd taken up a position beside the hole, out of the direct line of sight, waiting to see who'd stick their head out first.

"Mine," he subvocalized into the comlink. The flames Pyro controlled were impressive and terrifying, but Logan knew that Pyro needed a source of flame to control it. First Pyro had used a lighter, but then he'd managed to miniaturize a flamethrower and kept the fuel in a pack that rested on his back like a small backpack.

He extended the claws of one hand again, surprised by the relative lack of pain, then, just as Pyro was about to power up the flamethrower, sliced up and across Pyro's back. The stench of gasoline assaulted his nose with less intensity than usual, thanks to his powerless state, and Pyro whirled on him, even as he heard a shout from behind Pyro. A woman's voice.

"Might think twice before you turn those flames on," Logan advised him, then slammed his fist into the boy's stomach. Pyro fell to his knees, heaving.

A shockwave rumbled through the air, and even without his enhanced senses, Logan could sense the panic in the people nearby. Was it another earthquake? How much could this tiny island withstand?

It was no earthquake. It was the dark-haired woman from Alcatraz.

Two things happened simultaneously. A thin layer of ice coated her hands and a cure dart embedded itself in her neck. The sniper's work, no doubt.

Logan's claws itched to be free, to bite deep into Cotton's flesh, no matter that they were on the same side. Using a cure dart was wrong. Even in this kind of combat.

"Wolverine, Colossus, behind us," Sushi ordered. Logan grimaced, but it made sense. He declined the gun Bandit offered him, but Peter accepted one with grim determination.

"Let's get the bastards," Sushi said.

"Gladly." Logan popped both sets of claws, felt the familiar pain of them extending. He blinked, glanced down at his hands and retracted the claws. Another grin spread as he watched the injuries heal. "Colossus, armor up."

Peter blinked, then grinned and his skin shifted to organic metal.

"We're back," Logan said. "Let's take 'em down."

- - - - -

Scott bit back a cheer when he heard Logan's announcement. He had to focus. The main entrance of the Bradbury Building was only a few feet in front of him. Jean stood beside him, and the Delta Force team was ranged behind them, weapons ready. He prayed they really did know who the bad guys were.

Storm hovered overhead, having cleared smoke from the alley. She was his backup plan, in case the Delta team got overeager with those weapons. He'd spoken to her privately while they'd flown from Westchester, and she was ready to do what needed to be done, if necessary, even if it meant hurting her sometime lover, Redneck.

The door flew open and a double handful of people swarmed out of the building. Scott could see and hear various powers being used -- a sonic cry, a force blast not unlike his own optic blasts, heat.

An optic blast, moderate setting, right at the feet of the pack leaders made them stumble and crash into each other. The Delta team held their fire, and Scott allowed himself to breathe a little easier.

"Stand down," he said, "and nobody gets hurt. We're only here for Magneto. Don't get between us and him, and you'll be fine."

He read the shock in their faces, and also thought he detected some relief. Not a surprise, working for Magneto couldn't be a cakewalk, even if you were a mutant, too.

A roar like the blizzards in Alaska echoed from the Bradbury Building. Scott saw panic in the fallen mutants' eyes, and they scrambled to their feet, somehow, trying to get away from the door.

"Phoenix?" It still felt strange to call her that, but she'd needed the code name. Someday, he'd ask why she'd chosen it.

"Ready." She sounded calm and steady.

Scott wasn't prepared for what he saw next.

A blizzard came out of the building. Thousands of tiny bits of something whirled in a frenzied maelstrom, glinting in the glow of the streetlights and the light streaming from nearby windows.

The glint was … metallic?

"Shrapnel!" Scott shouted into the comlink.

"On it," Jean said even as the Delta team dove for cover. Scott saw her forehead crease in concentration, and the cyclone of metal diverted upward off of its collision course with them.

The change lasted only a heartbeat, and the swirling, pulsing, whirling bits of metal were coming at them from above.

"Twelve o'clock high," Scott told Jean.

"Working on it," she replied through gritted teeth. "Different challenge than the lake. Too many bits, hard to catch them all."

"We're pinned." Redneck's voice came through the comlink. He sounded mostly calm, but there was an undercurrent of terror he couldn't quite hide. Scott didn't blame him -- being ripped to shreds by tiny spikes of metal was one of the least pleasant ways of dying he could think of.

"Stay down," Scott told him. "We'll handle it."

In a way, that was a relief. They wouldn't sense what he was doing, wouldn't try to stop him. They wouldn't insist on curing Magneto so he could stand trial for war crimes. He and Jean could do what needed to be done.

"You guys covered?" Jean asked.

"We've got cover," Redneck replied.

"Okay. Storm, get clear," Jean said. "This will be tricky, and I don't want you caught in it."

"Help Wolverine," Scott ordered. That would keep Ororo from questioning what they did until it was done.

"I won't abandon you."

"We can handle this," Scott said. "Go. Help them."

She hesitated overhead a moment longer, then flew toward the rear of the building.

Scott nodded to Jean. "Let's go."

- - - - -

Phoenix.

She was the only reason whoever stood outside wasn't screaming in the agony of death-throes. Magneto knew it as surely as he knew the humans wanted him and his kind dead.

Much as it pained him to do so, he'd have to strip all of the ironwork inside the lobby and atrium, send it all in a fusillade of hail aimed directly at killing Phoenix and Cyclops.

Besides the waste of beautiful sculpted wrought iron, he had no wish to see either of them dead. They'd both been his students once and, more, they were Charles' students and friends. He regretted most the grief he'd cause Charles by killing his most promising students.

But there was nothing to be done for it. Cyclops had served his purpose, had created Mutania. Phoenix would never join him, never rule Mutania at his side. Even more than Charles, they both were traitors to their kind. Charles, at least, would have left him alone here in his new mutant paradise.

The creak of iron around him told him that the last of the scrollwork had joined his whirlwind of death. It was time.

He would face them directly, not from the safety of this building. He owed them -- owed Charles -- that much, at least. Besides, he sensed Wolverine approaching quickly, so it was best to get into the open. Wolverine was no threat to him, but who knew what the military people with Wolverine might do?

Magneto strode forward, the iron cyclone moving with him. It was time to end this.


	36. Chapter 36

"I've never seen anything like that before," Sushi murmured.

Logan had to agree. Before them was a writhing, tangled mass of shrapnel bits. In the center of it, dimly, he could make out a figure. Magneto.

"No way to shoot him through that," Bandit observed. "The needles would never survive that."

"I can take him," Peter said. "He can't manipulate my armored form, and the shrapnel can't hurt me."

For all that he sounded determined to leave immediately, he did glance at Logan, and Logan nodded. "Good plan. Take 'im down hard and fast. Don't give 'im a chance to react."

"I won't."

Logan hated that expression on Peter's face. He knew he'd seen it many times before, the expression that said Peter was determined to kill if necessary. Logan didn't want him to have to do it, to become a killer, but there was no choice now.

Peter dashed forward, and Logan felt the vibrations of each of Peter's steps in the floor beneath his feet. Magneto would feel it, too.

Unwelcome but familiar tension ran through his body. "Get clear," he said.

"Why?" Sushi asked.

"Magneto's got me." Logan barely finished his sentence before he was pulled forward at breakneck speed. "Pete, get down!"

He tried to yell, but his jawbones were coated in adamantium, too, and he couldn't articulate clearly, so Peter didn't get the warning.

Logan flew forward and felt his claws extend without his conscious will. He struggled to retract them. Magneto might not be able to affect Peter's armored form, but he'd never found anything his claws couldn't cut through. He didn't want to cut through Peter.

He slammed into Peter's body, hard. The younger man grunted and fell forward. Logan's body remained pressed against Peter, and then his claws drove deep into the floor on either side of him, effectively pinning them both to the floor.

"Didn't know you X-Men were that close," Sushi quipped.

"We are not, normally," Peter grunted. "Perhaps you could assist, instead of making unfunny jokes?"

Score one for the kid, Logan thought as the SEALs came forward. He struggled to free his arms, but they were still sunk deep into the flooring. He just hoped the fight wasn't over before he was free. He owed Magneto for this one.

- - - - -

"It's getting worse," Jean said unnecessarily.

"He must be coming outside," Scott said. They'd walked into the sea of shards together, Jean's power forming a cocoon of safety around them like the eye of a hurricane. He'd intended to march straight into the Bradbury Building and confront Magneto there in its heart, but now Magneto was coming to them.

He stretched a hand behind his back to where he'd tucked the non-metallic knife he'd gotten in Westchester. It rested securely in a sheath across the top of his hips, unfamiliar but strangely comfortable.

A bit of shrapnel got past Jean's shield and pinged off the edge of his visor.

"Sorry." He could hear the strain in Jean's voice.

"You're doing fine." He wanted to reassure her mentally as well, but didn't dare disturb her concentration by pushing his thoughts toward her. Lines of tension etched her face around her eyes and mouth. Later, when this was done, he'd hold her and smooth that tension away. If they survived.

"Too many. Too small. I can't --"

"You can. You will," Scott said. "You're Jean Grey. You got a full scholarship to Columbia P&S. You testified before the Senate. You held back a wall of water and lifted a Blackbird. You can do this."

He'd considered using his power to blast the bits out of the sky, but the reports they'd read on their briefing suggested that even now, weeks after the cataclysm that created it, California Island wasn't geologically stable. He wouldn't use his powers in the middle of this magnetic maelstrom. He would not.

He had enough nightmares already. He didn't need to add to the list of variations.

No, he'd save his powers for one specific, limited use -- one Magneto would never expect.

Beside him, Jean stumbled and fell to her knees. He dropped beside her, the urge to help her as ingrained as breathing. Her face contorted in anguish, and he could almost feel the effort she made to keep a bubble of calm around them, that struggle made more difficult by the sharp bits of metal pinging into their armor.

Scott tucked her head against his chest, bent his own head over it, then covered their heads with his arms. Their uniforms had somewhat less armor in the arms and legs than in the torso to allow for greater movement, but less armor was better than no armor.

He knew better than to try to goad her to more effort. Jean knew the stakes and the risks as well as he did, and she would do all she could to stop Magneto.

But as the tornado condensed around them and more shrapnel bit into their armor, even through the armor and into flesh, he knew he'd have to risk using his power after all. There was no other way to stop the shrapnel if her power failed, and if they died, there'd be no one to stop Magneto.

He'd just lifted his head when he realized that shrapnel no longer bit into him. A look around told him that they were in the eye of the storm -- and Magneto himself stood before them.

He nudged Jean and rose to his feet. Their position looked far too much like they knelt before Magneto and he wouldn't give Magneto that satisfaction.

"I wondered when you'd come," Magneto said. "Though I didn't expect you to make it this far."

Scott felt his body tense. "Bet you didn't expect this, either."

He sprang forward, pulling the knife from its sheath and driving it into Magneto's stomach.

- - - - -

"I thought your claws could cut through anything," Peter said. His voice was muffled and he seemed to be trying very hard not to breathe and somehow press his body even closer against Logan's. At least, Logan thought, Peter was still in metal form so he wasn't getting a noseful of sweat.

"Want me to cut through you?"

"Cutting through whatever's holding your claws pinned would be good."

"He's outside the building. I can't move, or I'd rip through him personally."

"Oh." Peter sounded resigned.

"And this is why you brought us along." Sushi's cheerful tone just made Logan suspicious.

"What are you planning?"

"A little teamwork." Logan felt ropes being slipped around his shoulders and tightened. He could see someone else wrapping a harness around Peter's torso just under his arms. "When we're ready, Colossus, power down, and we'll pull you out and Wolverine up. Iceman will provide a slippery surface. You'll be cold for a few, but we should be able to pull you free."

"Good," Peter said. "I respect Wolverine, but we are not like this."

Sushi laughed, and Logan felt the ropes snug down in place. "All set?" Sushi asked, and Logan heard affirmatives from four other voices.

"Iceman, make us a slide."

Logan watched the ice form under Peter and felt the tug on the ropes around his shoulders that told him the SEALS were getting into place.

"Too bad I don't have a camera," Bobby quipped.

"Be thankful you don't." Peter and Logan spoke at the same time.

"In position," Sushi ordered. "And on three… one. Two. Three."

Logan wished all plans worked that well. The two SEALs holding the ropes at his shoulders braced their legs and shifted their weight backward. Peter turned flesh. The four SEALs holding the ropes attached to his harness heaved like the sailors they'd descended from, and Peter slipped out from under him across the icy patch Bobby had created.

Peter scrambled to his feet, and the SEALs holding Logan eased their weight forward. Logan gave thanks for the X-armor that kept the chill of the ice from seeping into his skin -- at least for now.

The SEALs unhooked the harness around Peter, and he shifted back to his metallic form.

"Believe you had a date," Sushi said. "Mind if we tag along?"

"Only for this date," Peter responded, the words almost lost in the thud of feet as he and the SEALs dashed forward.

"I still can't move," Logan muttered, but no one heard him.

- - - - -

Magneto stared into the visor where Cyclops's eyes should be. He'd given the boy control over his power. Why was he wearing the visor now?

Then he looked down to see the knife protruding from his stomach. And laughed.

"This is nothing," he said, and summoned a small portion of his power to add the blade to the swirling metal storm surrounding them. It didn't move, and he frowned.

"Non-metallic blade," Cyclops said. "A loan from our friends in the military." He stepped back.

"Still nothing," Magneto told him. "A wound like that barely requires stitches."

"Now." The visor opened barely wider than a hair, and a beam lanced out to snap off the handle of the knife. "Give it a minute."

"Surely you don't expect me to bleed to death." The pain shifted, almost as though the blade cut deeper. But Cyclops had broken the handle, so he couldn't thrust.

He winced when the pain traveled across his abdomen.

"No," Cyclops said. "That's far too gentle a death for what you've done."

"I'm sorry, Erik."

He jerked his head toward Phoenix, who stepped forward to stand with Cyclops. Tears glistened in her eyes, but her expression was determined.

Then the pain shifted again, and he knew. She was controlling it with her telekinesis, guiding it on its path through his body -- a path she could determine accurately, given her medical knowledge.

There was only one solution -- kill them before they killed him. He summoned the shards of iron, focused them into a mass, prepared to drop them on the two X-Men.

Suddenly it was hard to breathe. She'd punctured a lung. Then the other one.

Now. It had to be now.

He released his hold on the shards, sent the deadly hail rushing down on their heads.

The stabbing pain in his heart shocked him. Phoenix couldn't hold the shards away from her and Cyclops, not and direct the blade tip in his body at the same time.

He fell to his knees, his hand clutching his chest.

The last of the shards bounced off the pavement, and he saw Cyclops and Phoenix standing before him, hand in hand, apparently unharmed where they should be ripped to shreds.

Then they stepped apart, and he saw a young woman releasing her hold on each of their arms. The Pryde girl.

"It wasn't supposed to end this way." He never knew whether they heard him.


	37. Chapter 37

And here we are -- the last chapter of this story that never officially happened because I don't own the characters or the world and don't get to make decisions about them. This is my first completed fanfic, and it's been a helluva ride. There is a sequel in the works, titled _Supplementary Angles_, and I'll post it after my beta readers are done ripping it to shreds and helping me stitch it back together.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this final chapter. Thanks for staying with me through all of it!

X X X X X

Scott collapsed into the chair behind his desk. The media had descended with a speed that suggested they had several telepaths in their ranks, and he hadn't been injured enough to beg off an interview. But the special forces teams couldn't be seen on television, or their ability to do their jobs would be compromised, and Logan had been swarmed almost as wildly as he had, so he'd spent a few minutes answering questions before rejoining the teams and taking off for China Lake.

They hadn't lingered at China Lake before boarding the Blackbird and returning to Westchester.

The SEALs and Delta teams had bunked down in the same guest rooms they'd used when they'd stayed for training, and Scott had wanted nothing more than to hold Jean, but she'd been called to the infirmary for a minor surgery that shouldn't wait, and it would be morning before he saw her again. Dammit.

So he'd ended up in his office, turning on the computer just to check email. By the time he finished that, he should be ready to collapse into bed.

"You might not want to check that account."

Scott looked up as Charles rolled into the room. "The general information account? Why not? I figured I'd send a few routine answers and call it a night."

"There are eight hundred and twenty-two emails waiting. Or there were when Marie checked an hour ago."

"Eight hundred --?" Scott stared at Charles. "I didn't think that account got that many in a year."

"Most of them within the last six hours."

Since he'd appeared on television, and mutants had become the topic of the day. Scott sighed. "Sorry."

"It just means we'll need to hire a few more instructors," Charles said. "And perhaps look at adding another building or two."

"And more staff, and separate the X-training from the school." He shook his head. He'd known when he chose this path that it would take both the school and the X-Men in directions he hadn't anticipated. This was one of them.

"None of which are bad in and of themselves."

Scott raised an eyebrow as he looked at Charles. "No? It means we can't be the refuge we've always been."

"So we'll create a different kind of refuge." Charles sounded unruffled. "One that is safer more by virtue of its publicity than by its secrecy."

"It's not what you wanted for the school." He'd fought Charles over the future of the team, but never the school. The school, he'd thought, would remain as it was.

"But it is what circumstance has forced on us," Charles said. "As much as I hate to admit it, you were right."

"I wish I hadn't been. I wish --" Scott broke off. There was no need to finish that sentence. Charles knew he wished they hadn't had to kill Charles's oldest friend.

"Better to face reality head-on than to have it blindside you," Charles said. "We hid here too long, Scott. You were right. We can't do that any longer."

"I never expected you to agree," Scott said finally. He knew Charles had read his surprise, but the other man was too polite to say so.

"I am stubborn," Charles agreed, "but I am not stupid. The situation would be much worse if you hadn't already established relations with the government."

"It took humans and mutants working together to stop Magneto," Scott agreed. "In a way, we should be grateful to him, because he made our point more effectively than any testimony before the Senate or public appeals."

"But at too great a cost." Grief and sorrow lined Charles's face for a moment, then he straightened in his wheelchair. "That cost is paid, and we must look to the future. What have you been thinking?"

"That I want a hot shower and bed," Scott answered, and Charles actually chuckled.

"I meant, about the school and the team."

"I know." Scott knew the other man knew it, too. "I think we need to separate them a bit more, especially if we're going to have a jump in enrollment."

"That could be difficult, considering that everyone on the team is also a teacher."

"So we hire more staff, people who are strictly teachers. We'll have crossover, to be sure, but we can keep it to a minimum."

"What kind of minimum?"

"Logan and I will teach one class each, to give us more time for the team work. Jean will be lead physician for the team. Ororo --" he smiled just a little -- "Ororo would prefer to be a full-time teacher and perhaps assistant headmaster, helping out the team only when she's needed. All of us need backup, because we don't know when the team will be needed."

"You have thought this through."

"No, that's just the obvious stuff. Along with a new dorm."

"Additional staff quarters, as well," Charles said.

"I have a few thoughts on that," Scott said, "but I need to talk to others first."

Charles gave him an inquiring glance, but Scott knew his shields were strong enough the other man wouldn't pick up any bleedover, and Charles was too polite to snoop. After a moment, Charles nodded.

"There's a lot to do before the next term."

"We'll have a team meeting after Logan and I get back from Washington," Scott agreed with a grimace. "Official debriefing tomorrow morning."

"You chose that, too," Charles observed. "You can't expect the assistance without following their rules."

"Some of their rules," Scott agreed. "It'll be a hell of a challenge."

"One you're looking forward to."

"Yes," Scott said simply. "I am."

- - - - -

Even after all her years as a physician, Jean was always started when the cell phone at her hip vibrated. Tonight, though, she was also irritated. She'd come home hoping for quiet time with Scott, but had been called to the infirmary almost immediately to deal with a broken fibia that had punctured an artery. Billy was resting after the surgery, and she'd come to the kitchen for a light snack. What new emergency demanded her attention?

"Jean Grey," she said into the phone.

"Are you wearing your lab coat?" Scott asked.

What kind of question was that? "No, I changed out of scrubs after surgery."

"Too bad. I was looking forward to peeling it off. It's sexy as hell, you know."

"It's a smock," Jean said. "How can it possibly be sexy?"

"Anything's sexy when you're wearing it. So what are you wearing?"

"T-shirt and jeans," she answered automatically.

"See? Sexy. The T-shirt clings and the jeans show off your legs. You have great legs."

She laughed. "You'd have an answer like that no matter what I said, wouldn't you?"

"Of course. You're sexy, Jean. At least to me, and I'm the only one who counts."

"You are, are you?" She must be tired if she couldn't banter any better than that.

"Yeah, I am."

This time, Scott's voice had come more from the doorway than her phone, and she turned to see him standing there in his own version of T-shirt and jeans. The image registered for an instant before he crossed the room to take her in his arms.

This was what she needed, just to be held, to feel herself warm and safe in the circle of Scott's arms, his heartbeat steady and strong and reassuring. The dam she'd kept on her emotions since they'd left the Bradbury Building burst, and she clung to Scott.

"I killed him," she murmured against his chest. "I'm a doctor, I'm supposed to save lives, and I killed him."

He held her while the worst of the emotional storm passed, and then said quietly, "Let me in."

She'd said the same thing to him once, and he'd done it, even though he'd been certain it would mean she rejected him. She could do no less now, and she yielded to the gentle pressure of his thoughts.

For long moments, they just stood there, thoughts twining, melding without words.

_You're still a good person,_ he told her. _It's not a betrayal of who you are or what you believe._

_Isn't it?_ She had to ask, even though she felt his certainty, his belief in her, through the link. _The oath I swore binds me to maintain the utmost respect for human life. Now I've taken one._

_That oath also bound you to serve all humanity,_ Scott reminded her. _Was it a greater service to humanity that he live?_

"When they gave me the white coat," Jean spoke aloud, though they were still linked, "it was the proudest day of my life. They read every version of the Hippocratic Oath, and the modern Declaration of Geneva. And above all they emphasized first to do no harm."

"You know what he planned, Jean. Was the greater harm in killing him, or in letting that happen?" He tilted her chin up so he could look into her eyes. "I made the same criticism to Charles, you know, that living in an ivory tower blinds us to reality. And the reality is that sometimes there are no good choices. Sometimes there's just the lesser of two evils. Good people regret being forced to choose, but choose the lesser one."

Jean nodded. What he said made sense, but it would be a while before she fully accepted it, if she ever could. For now, it was the balm she'd needed to begin her own healing.

"Thanks."

Scott hugged her close again. "Any time."

For a moment longer, she allowed herself to rest in his arms and in his mind, but they were both exhausted and the thought of their bed upstairs was seductive.

He read her thought, of course, and turned her so that his arm rested on her shoulders and they could walk side by side.

_I like being linked with you._

She smiled, tightened her arm around his waist in a one-armed hug. _I like it, too. I like falling asleep still linked._

They'd reached the stairs, and he urged her ahead of him, his hand resting at the small of her back. _I wish there were a way to make it permanent._

_Permanent?_

_Why so surprised?_ She felt his amusement, then he sobered. _You were right. I hid from you. A permanent link wouldn't let that happen. We could support each other, not misunderstand each other._

Jean was quiet even in her thoughts until the door to their room closed behind them.

"There might be a way," she said, interrupting Scott as he was pulling his T-shirt over his head. She felt his question through the link and added, "The professor and I talked about it once or twice. Theoretically. I was too scared to try, before, with my power so unstable."

"But now you can?"

"Theoretically," she emphasized. "I don't know that it'll work."

_I'm willing to try if you are._

Jean nodded, took a breath to steady herself. It would be the most delicate manipulation she'd ever attempted, and with the one person she cared most about in the world. "Ready?"

He grinned. "Can we do it naked?"

She laughed, grateful for the release of tension. "Sure, but don't distract me, or a lot worse could happen than falling into the pool."

"I won't. During," he added. "After, you're fair game."

"Insatiable." She pulled her own T-shirt over her head.

"You've never complained before."

"And I'm not now."

When they were both undressed, he climbed into bed and opened his arms for her. "No distractions. I just want to hold you."

She cuddled in close to him. "Relax, okay? Let me do this."

"You're the boss for this, boss." This time, his humor was to cover his own nervousness, at least outwardly. He wasn't trying to hide it inwardly, and she was grateful for that.

_Let me in. Deep. Deeper than I've ever been,_ she told him. Between his relaxing and her gentle probing, she eased down until she found his very core, the essence that was Scott.

She hovered beside the core of him, stripped her own self to its core the way she'd learned when Charles first began working with her.

That was the easy part. Now she had to transfer parts of each to the other without destroying either of them in the process.

Instinct guided her now, not theory, and she merged their cores. She became Scott, and he became Jean, and they each were both and separate. The trick would be to take a part of him with her when she withdrew and leave a part of herself behind, still keeping each part attached to its whole.

Slowly, gently, she pulled back from the merged ScottJean, felt his anguish at losing the deepest connection they'd ever made, and reassured him.

Then she was back in her own body, her own self, and she was certain her expression was as dazed as Scott's was. But she wasn't alone.

He smiled, slowly. "You're still with me. Just a little, like a touch."

She laughed, relaxed against him. "Successful test of theory."

"It's going to take some getting used to." She could sense him probing at the part of her still with him, like a child worried a loose tooth.

"You'd better," she teased. "I don't think I can undo it."

"I don't want you to." He was serious. "It's new and strange, but I'm glad it's there. I told you I want to share my life with you, and this is the deepest sharing I can imagine."

"So does that mean you don't want to get married after all?"

"No, not at all. Maybe it's not as pressing a desire as it was an hour ago, but I want to."

"Logan's going to hate it, you know."

"Hate what?"

"Being your best man. Well, the wearing a tux part."

Scott stared at her. "How'd you --?" And then he got it, and laughed. "Right, link. Definitely take some getting used to."

"Mm-hm. We can work on it."

"Tomorrow," he agreed. "Right now, I just want to hold you and enjoy it."

She cuddled into his arms, content.


End file.
